


Crime and Christmas 2020

by unwillingadventurer



Category: Callan (TV), Doctor Who, Full House (UK TV), Justice (TV 1971), Only When I Laugh (TV), Raffles - E. W. Hornung, The Dancing Years (1979)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:07:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 23,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27816547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unwillingadventurer/pseuds/unwillingadventurer
Summary: Fics/poems for various fandoms including Raffles, Doctor Who, Callan etc.
Comments: 92
Kudos: 14
Collections: Crime & Christmas 2020





	1. Raffles- Snow

Day 1- Snow- A Raffles poem. (Bunny's POV) 

The house was so silent and I all alone,  
tucked up in bed, in a place we’d called home.

Since you’d been gone, so hard to sleep—  
tossing and turning all night—not a peep.

I climbed out of bed, cold feet on the floor,  
put on my slippers and walked to the door.

Into the hallway, a creak on the stair,  
only my footsteps, for you were not there.

Outside it was snowing, the land a pure white,  
the sky was so dark, but the ground was so bright.

The air was so bitter as I rolled up the snow—  
into a big mound, it just seemed to grow.

There soon was a figure as big as a man.  
No expression, no features, but I had a plan!

I fetched some belongings and brought them outside—  
things you’d owned, untouched since you’d died.

I used two diamonds for eyes, that sparkled with light,  
a top hat, a white tie, to make it quite right.

Finally, some pebbles to finish the smile,  
And a cane by the side to complete the style.

I named him Raffles, after you it would seem,  
and I’m not sure at all if the next part’s a dream.

For when it was finished, the eyes started to blink,  
the hands twitched, it nodded, and then let out a wink.

“Raffles?” I said, “Can it really be you?”  
And you answered quite softly that yes it was true.

You were now ice and snow, not flesh and blood,  
tears consumed me and fell down like a flood.

I reached for your hand and held it in mine,  
though your fingers were twigs, I felt all would be fine.

“Bunny,” you said, “Don’t know if you’re aware,  
but you look like an angel with that snow in your hair.”

I blushed for a moment, and hearing you speak—  
sent shivers right through me and made my legs weak.

Your eyes made of jewels stared into my soul,  
with you there beside me, I finally felt whole.

And we danced there together under the glow of the moon,  
but like all good things, it was over too soon.

You placed a kiss on my cheek, “I’ll see you in the morning.”  
And I raced downstairs as a new day was dawning.

But instead of the freeze, the warmth of the sun—  
had arrived in full force and last night was undone.

The snow had all melted, and you were no more,  
like my Raffles in battle, we’d been here before.

Where you once had been, lay the jewels and the rest—  
of your treasures, I cherished, of you I loved best.

As I sat there in sorrow, my eyes full of tears,  
I wondered how I’d go on without you for years.

But I heard your voice whisper “There’s nothing to fear,  
for I’ll see you next winter, it comes every year.”


	2. Full House UK series- Dressing as Santa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Started off as the prompt but went off a little into general Christmas celebrations.

“Well that was fun, wasn’t it?” Paul said, smiling at Marsha beside him as she sat at the steering wheel, driving them home. When she didn’t answer, he turned to the back seat where Murray and Diana were seated. “Wasn’t it fun you two?”

“Yeah if you call dressed like a pratt, fun,” Murray muttered, staring down at his red and green elf costume.

There was a sudden judder and Marsha pulled the car to the side of the road before it ground to a halt. “Oh, what now?” she said.

“Now, now, Marsha,” Paul said, climbing out of the vehicle, “there’s no need to panic. I always carry spare car parts in case of emergency. Murray, help me, would you?” he said, peering through the back window.

“Dressed like this?”

“Well I’m dressed as Father Christmas and as you can see, I’m out of the car already.”

Murray sighed and opened the door, climbing out. “You’re not wearing green tights though, are you?”

“I look fetching in mine!” Diana said, leaning one green leg out of the window.

“Well I had to be Father Christmas, I’m the teacher. It was a school concert. Marsha was very happy to be my Mrs. Christmas.”

“Very happy might be an overstatement,” Marsha said.

“Why the hell we agreed to be your elves, I’ll never know,” Murray said as he lifted up the bonnet.

Diana leaned her head out of the window. “There’s an obvious answer to that, Murray, we’re broke, and Paul was paying.”

“No one could’ve predicted that both our original elves would have caught malaria like that,” Paul said as he looked at the engine.

“Do you know what you’re doing, Mr. Claus?” Marsha said, also leaning her head through the open window.

“Quite alright, ladies, we’ve got this.”

“Have we?” Murray said. “Think you might need to summon Rudolph and Blitzen to pull us home at this rate.”

Paul pulled off his big white beard and scratched his chin. He leaned forward to reveal a pot belly.

“You’ve been putting on weight, Paul?” Murray said, chuckling.

“No, it’s the costume!”

“Thought you might be pregnant,” he added with a smirk.

Paul ignored him and peered down at the car, pretending he knew what he was doing. He sighed. “I’m afraid it’s quite broken, Mrs. Claus.”

“You know what’s wrong?”

“No but it’s quite broken. I think we’ll have to walk.”

Diana nodded. “Paul’s right. I’d like to be home for Christmas Day even if it means walking back. Don’t fancy sitting here on Christmas Eve waiting for the recovery vehicle.”

“Dressed like this?” Murray gasped. “With bleedin’ tights on?”

“You can take the tights off if you like,” Marsha said, climbing out of the car with Diana.

Murray smirked. “Not right now, Marsha, but thanks for the invitation.”

“Come on, no time to waste,” Paul said, taking control as he usually did. “Let’s get this over with. Grab the presents, Murray.”

“Me?”

“It’ll cover your face then nobody will see you.” He smirked.

…

The next morning as Christmas Day arrived, Diana appeared downstairs in her pyjamas and saw Murray hanging mistletoe from the doorframe in the kitchen. “What are you doing?”

“What’s it look like?”

“It looks like you’re hanging Holly.”

“Oh.” He laughed. “Wondered why it bit me.” He then looked at the table where there was an assortment of green things. “Must be this one.” He picked up the mistletoe and attached it to the top of the door.

“Expecting a kiss with that, are we?”

“That is the general idea, Diana. I’ve also put one in the hall.”

“But I’ve already walked in the room now,” Diana replied.

“Who said it was for you?”

She slapped him with some tinsel as she darted across the room. A moment later, Marsha entered the kitchen and made her way to the kettle. Murray spun around her, realising he’d missed her under the mistletoe. “Damn.”

“What?” Marsha asked.

Diana pointed. “Mistletoe.”

“Oh, I see. Well don’t worry, I spend a lot of my life in this kitchen, so I’m sure you’ll catch me at some point. And anyway, Merry Christmas, you two.”

Diana kissed her on the cheek as Murray hugged her.

“Where’s Paul anyway?” Murray asked. “I thought he’d be up the earliest, badgering us with his Christmas itinerary.”

“He’s got the list ready. And the presents are in neat piles in the living room at the correct angle. I’m sure he’ll tell us when we’re allowed to open them. For now, I’m gasping for a coffee.”

“Me too,” Diana said.

“I’ll see if Mr. Claus is up,” Murray said, leaving the girls to it.

“What’s Murray got you for Christmas?” Marsha said after she poured the coffee into the cups.

“No idea. I pointed out some things in shop windows but usually I just make sure he kept the receipt.”

“Paul’s like that with receipts. Anything slightly wrong, it goes straight back. I’m surprised he didn’t keep the receipt when he married me.”

Diana smiled. “Your far too nice to return. So, what’s Paul getting you?”

“Page 13 of the catalogue. Item 4. A therapeutic foot massager. He thinks I don’t know but he had it written down on his ‘gifts for Marsha’ list.”

“Poor Paul, can’t be spontaneous even at Christmas. I got Murray socks.” She shrugged. “Well he never buys his own and he’s already got me so what else does he need?”

“I’ve got Paul a new thermometer. Apparently, it takes temperature better than ever before. He’s almost hoping to get a winter virus just to test it out.”

“Well it is a good idea, especially since Murray broke his last one.”

…

“How come my pile is the smallest?” Murray said, watching as Paul measured the distance between each pile of presents with a tape measure that he had slung over his Christmas jumper. 

“It’s not. They’re all exactly the same amount but some presents are bigger than others. Size doesn’t always matter, Murray.”

Murray looked at Paul. “Yeah, I guessed that.”

Paul shook him away. “Shut up, Murray.” He stood up and admired the tree, smiling at a job well done. “I must say, the tree does look good. A real team effort.”

“Yeah 90% Paul, 10% everyone else.”

“I’m looking forward to this day.”

“Yeah, lucky about your mother going on that cruise at last minute, weren’t it?”

“It was astounding how she won that competition.” Paul rubbed his chin. “Especially since she didn’t enter it.”

“Never mind that,” Murray said. “Why don’t we do the old McCoy tradition of sneaking off to the pub for a few Christmas drinks?”

“Won’t the girls mind?”

“Nah, I ran it past them. I said we’d do the cleaning up if they did the dinner.”

Paul thought for a moment. “Well, I suppose the turkey is already defrosted and I made my famous stuffing already. Alright, I’ll just tell Marsha.”

“I wouldn’t, Paul. Marsha’s talking about your present in there, wouldn’t want to find out three hours before present opening time, would you? It could quite ruin a Hatfield Christmas.”

…

“They really must have gone down the pub!” Diana grumbled as she entered the kitchen, watching as Marsha checked on the turkey in the oven.

“I’ll kill Paul.”

“And I’ll kill Murray.”

“We’ll kill them together and then put them in Paul’s stuffing,” Marsha replied as she dragged Diana to the chopping board. “We have no other choice. I need your help. You chop the vegetables and peel the potatoes and I’ll work on the turkey and the sauces.”

Diana stared at her dumbfounded. “Was that in English?”

“That’s a thought. How about I cook for you and I, and you cook for those two?”

“But it’ll be terrible!” Diana paused and caught on to Marsha’s plan. “Oh, I see. This is going to be the worst cooking I’ve ever done,” she said excitedly.

…

Murray brought the drinks to the table in the pub and took a sip of his beverage. “Nothing like it on Christmas is there?”

“It is a nice treat.”

“Being with your loved ones is important on Christmas Day,” Murray said.

“But Marsha and Diana are at home!”

“Oh yeah. Well don’t I count? What’s the matter, don’t you love me, Paul?”

“You want to know the answer to that?”

“You’ll break my heart, Paul,” Murray said, leaning his head on his shoulder. “Besides, it’s not natural to spend all day with the women, I mean, us men need a bit of a time of it whilst the women cook.”

“I really don’t think we ought to leave the cooking entirely to the girls. We must all play our part.”

“You did 90% of the tree, Marsha does 90% of the dinner, it all works out fine, trust me. Enjoy your drink, it’s the season of…”

“Goodwill towards men?”

“Nah, getting legless.”

…

There was a frostier atmosphere inside than outside as the men arrived home just in time for the ladies to serve Christmas dinner. Paul apologised for being late but hiccupped as he did so and Murray sat down, eager for food, clutching his knife and fork in anticipation.

“Here we are,” Marsha said, serving her and Diana two plates with a delicious looking turkey dinner covered in gravy and surrounded by potatoes and vegetables, stuffing and Yorkshire pudding. 

“Smells delicious,” Paul said, smelling the aroma.

“Glad you think so. Diana, bring out theirs.”

“You mean we’re having different from you?” Murray asked.

“Well…it’s the same ingredients,” Marsha told him as Diana carried two plates of charred potatoes, overcooked turkey and hard vegetables, topped off with lumpy gravy. She placed them down on the men’s placemats and smiled.

“You let Diana cook!?” Murray said.

“Serves you right for leaving us to do everything!” Diana said. “You want the women to cook, well I cooked and this is the result. Eat!” she said, stabbing the potato on Murray’s plate with a knife.

Paul’s eyes widened. “It looks… lovely, Diana,” he lied, putting a burnt pea cautiously into his mouth. He’d never known anyone to burn a pea before. He attempted to cover his charred potatoes with gravy but the gravy stuck to the jug and wouldn’t budge.

“Yeah,” Murray said, eyeing up the knife. “It looks nice. I don’t suppose you made pudding too?”

…

After dinner when Marsha and Diana had forgiven the boys by making them wash and tidy up, the four housemates sat on the living room floor next to their pile of opened presents. Paul had folded all the paper for next year’s use and had the vacuum cleaner out ready for crumbs and stray bits of paper left on the carpet.

“Well wasn’t that nice?” Paul said, hugging Marsha who was sat beside him.

“Terrific,” Murray said, his green paper hat still on his head. “Think we all need a drinkie though.”

“Amen to that!” Diana said, leaning back clutching her full belly.

“I’ll get some,” Murray said.

“I’ll help you,” Paul said as he followed him to the door of the kitchen. When they reached it, they both stepped through together and got wedged in the doorway. 

The girls laughed. “Oh, how sweet,” Marsha said. “Under the mistletoe.”

“Murray, you and this mistletoe!” Paul grumbled.

“Not my fault you keep walking under it the same time as me!”

“That’s fourteen times today. I’ve got chapped lips.”

“Better make it fifteen, pucker up sweetheart,” Murray said, pursing his lips.

Paul’s face reddened. 

“Go on Paul, it’s the rules and you don’t like to break the rules,” Marsha said with a giggle.

He sighed. “Fine.” He leaned in and kissed Murray quickly on the lips. “No more kissing.”

“At least until you get to the next doorway,” Diana joked. “Come on, where’s the drinks?”

The men carried an array of alcohol into the living room and set it down on the table. 

“Time for the real party,” Murray said. 

“Before all that,” Paul said, raising an empty glass. “Let’s make a toast. To our first Christmas as housemates.”

“We need to pour the drink for that,” Marsha laughed as she did the honours.

Paul continued his speech. “It’s not always been easy house sharing and times can be a little hectic but I think we should have this drink in honour of surviving together this long.”

They all raised their own glasses. “To us!”

Paul placed down his drink on a coaster and rubbed his hands together excitedly. “And on this celebration of all of us, I got you all an extra gift.”

“That’s not on your list, Paul,” Marsha said, putting her arms around him.

“I decided to be spontaneous after all. I even wrote it down on a pad: ‘be spontaneous’.” 

“With gifts you planned out?” Diana said.

“Only brought them nine days before Christmas, if that doesn’t say spontaneous, I don’t know what does.” He reached into a bag and pulled out three parcels. “Here you are, Diana.”

She opened it quickly and laughed. “A cookbook? Thank you, Paul, I shall never read it with pride!”

Next Murray was handed his gift and he tore open the paper. “An electric toothbrush? Never knew you cared!”

“Stop you using mine. And Marsha.” He handed her an envelope. “This is for you.”

“Not a divorce is it?” She opened it and then she scanned the contents of the letter inside. “Oh Paul! A holiday in Paris!” She threw her arms around him again. “How thoughtful. We can’t afford it but who cares?”

“I’m jealous,” Diana said. “I’ve always wanted to go to Paris.”

“Who said we weren’t going?” Murray said, producing a crumpled booking form from his jean pocket. “Saw Paul’s present for Marsha in his drawer and called the travel agent.”

“Murray how can we afford that?” Diana said.

“Let’s just say, it involved my elf costume and leave it at that.”

“You’re coming to?” Paul said, sighing and stealing a glance at Marsha.

“Yep, no problem there. Same hotel, same floor. You didn’t think I’d pass a chance to be in the most romantic city in the world with you, did you Paul?”

“Murray!” He grabbed a cushion and started to chase him with it. They both ran to the hallway door and got wedged under it for the umpteenth time.

“Oh, mistletoe again,” Diana said. “How sweet. Shall I get out the lip balm?”


	3. Raffles- Christmas Past

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt of Christmas past is barely featured in this but this is part 1 of three stories which will conclude with later prompts of Christmas Present and Yet to come. The plot of this is lovingly nicked and inspired by the wonderful film 'A Matter of Life and Death' but Simon is an original creation. Have no idea why this was written other than Raffles and Matter of Life and Death kind of fit together but you don't need to know the film to read this.

Looking down from heaven at the Earth of Christmas past I watched in glee at the two beloved human creatures named A.J Raffles and Bunny Manders who were celebrating Christmas in a clip from two years prior— and they were magnificent. I watched them many times before that but now I had a real reason to do so, a mission as it were. They sat together by a roaring fire and exchanged presents that were wrapped in paper and tied with brown string. I’d had a friend like that once, a splendid fellow, an artist, but he lived on Earth far longer than I, and one can’t quite remember how he perished. 

“I’d like to spend many more Christmases with you, A.J,” the young man, Bunny said. He was a writer like me and a good one at that, but dare I say he quite lacked my flamboyance and whimsy? 

“As many as you like, my dear fellow.”

That part stung in my heart like a bee. It was an important mission I’d been entrusted with but why did my mission have to be making sure that A.J Raffles died when he was supposed to? If it were up to me, we’d all live to ninety years old and be done with it. None of all this faffing about. As I continued to watch those adorable creatures falling asleep in each other’s arms, I too closed my weary eyes and surrendered myself to blissful silence.

I was dozing quite peacefully as one expects to when one is an angel in heaven and has been there for a couple of hundred years or so with little to do to pass the time of eternity. You’d think one would be able to sleep in peace but one rarely does even in paradise.

“Simon?” A voice called and I woke up to find one of my colleagues standing beside me, a woman who had been some kind of nurse on Earth in her living days. “You’re meant to be checking on the life and past of A.J Raffles. He’s due to arrive anytime and we’re not certain on his credentials to allow passage to our heavenly gates.”

I glanced down at the giant glass dome in front of me which looked upon the Earth and all who lived and breathed there. “I’m getting to it.” I glanced down. “Oh dear.”

“What is it, Simon?”

“It’s ‘Sir Simon’.”

“You were never knighted.”

“I was, just got it taken away briefly. I appear to have already liked this fellow in despite of his sins and have granted him permission to enter. He should be here momentarily.”

“Lost at sea, drowned wasn’t it?”

I clutched my heart. “Threw himself overboard in a daring escape. One has to admire it really. Except that he left his beloved behind.”

“Oh really Simon, getting caught up in mortals’ stories again! We already have people up here who probably shouldn’t be here without you letting anyone else in.”

“Ah.” I looked down at the machine. “I seem to have made a boo-boo.”

She rolled her eyes. “Not again!”

“It seems he’s…” I waved my hand in the air and grinned. “He’s…quite alive. Must’ve pressed the wrong button.”

“Simon! There’s nothing to be done but to send you to fix this. You go down there and you tell him he’s going to die and that he now has to prove his worth to get into heaven. It’s here or the other place.”

“He might prefer the other place.”

“Simon!”

I huffed and wiped my brow with a handkerchief before lifting my knee up and crossing my legs. “If I must. Though they say never to meet your heroes.”

“Just go, Simon.”

I was about to respond when I found myself on a warm beach with luscious yellow sand and wild crashing blue waves upon that desolate shore. And there he was…A.J Raffles, lying peacefully on the sand, his hair wet and his hands outstretched. I could see he was breathing and so prodded him.

“Wake up, Mr. Raffles, wake up, rise and shine. Thouest still alive.”

“What?” Raffles stirred and rolled over onto his back, staring up at me with dazzling blue eyes but a confused expression. “Who are you?”

“I’m Sir Simon de Winterbourne, pleased to make your acquaintance.” I took off my feathered hat and produced an extravagant bow.

“Who?”

“I would indeed have been famous if I hadn’t have perished tragically young. I was a playwright during the Elizabethan era, sought after and admired. Unfortunately, a young man I was staying with for Christmas, bestowed upon me not a gift but the plague and alas…” I mimed slitting my throat. “Well as they say I was no more.”

“By Jove, what on earth are you rambling about? Where’s Bunny?”

“Bunny is where you left him, on that boat, sailing to his incarceration. I must say I was rather saddened by that turn of events. But seeing as you are parted anyway, why don’t you come with me to the afterlife and be done with this place?”

He sat up groggily. “Are you a lunatic?”

“That was never proven. No, you’re meant to be dead, fellow. A.J Raffles was meant to die in the fathomless depths of the perilous ocean. But I made a tiny error and well here you are, alive and well on some Italian beach.” 

I could see him scanning the horizon. He smirked. “Well, if I’m alive, then I’m alive, it’s not my fault you couldn’t catch me.”

“I am not your Inspector Mackenzie. Thou must come with me. I’ll be in for it if thou does not.”

Raffles got to his feet. “You want me to voluntarily come with you to my doom? No thank you, old chap. It was a pleasure to meet you, but I’m quite happy here. I’ll find my way back to Bunny somehow.”

I started to breathe heavily. I was prone to panic attacks. “Oh lord. Thine eyes can see I’ll be in for a lashing.”

“Thine eyes can see you’re mad,” Raffles replied. “What if I refuse to die?”

“You can only cheat death once, Mr. Raffles, eventually it catches up with you.”

He folded his arms. “I don’t know why I’m talking to you, you’re probably a dream, but say this is true, why should you get to decide who lives and dies?”

“Goodness! I don’t, my dear man. I wanted you to live to ninety. The powers above are nagging away. ‘Kill this person’, ‘kill that person’, it’s all rather tedious. On Earth you have cricket, up there, death is our sporting event. I’ve got a wager on who will die first out of a ballet dancer and a scientist.”

Raffles smiled and I felt like Bunny Manders when he described him in his writing works. I had all his stories on my bookshelf. We were allowed spoilers of certain future events.  
“I’ll take things from here, Sir Simon,” Raffles said.

“But…but…what are you going to do?”

“I’ll live somehow and I’ll get back to Bunny. You don’t begrudge me that?”

“Well no, but what will I tell upstairs?”

“Tell them I’m not ready. Tell them life on Earth is still turning with A.J Raffles upon it.”

I sighed heavily and threw my cape across my shoulders. “It’ll be solitary confinement for me that’s what it’ll be. You think it’s only hell that offers eternal punishments but it’s not, they want us to suffer up there. Sadists.”

“So, I can stay?”

“I’m not sure how long for, but I promise I can at least let you find Bunny one day. I’ll hold them off until then but beware my precious Raffles, the hand of death will be upon your shoulder when you least expect it. Well maybe not least expect it as I’ll probably give you a warning but still.”

“Thank you.”

I spun around on the spot and found myself back in the viewing room in heaven where upon the screen, time had passed and Raffles was reunited with his Bunny. There they sat together on the roof of a building where Raffles’ hair had turned white. I admit I take credit for that. As I left him on the beach, I sprinkled some cloud dust onto his locks where they would gradually glow a beautiful white. He may not have been in heaven yet but there was no reason he shouldn’t look like heaven. We didn’t have Raffles just yet but we would soon. Surely a man couldn’t cheat death more than once? Surely soon this creature would grace our world above with his charming presence?

“Until we meet again, Mr. Raffles,” I said, pressing rewind on the viewing dome and watching as he walked across that Italian shore, barefoot in the sand, directionless and alone. My poor darling gentleman thief.


	4. Doctor Who- Silent Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 5 prompt.
> 
> Steven Taylor encounters WWI poet Siegfried Sassoon.

Steven Taylor, tired, cold and wet from a previous downpour of rain, appeared at the window of a large unknown building. He looked inside and then glanced around, noticing that everyone seemed to be wearing military uniforms of the past. 

“Where the hell did the Doctor get us lost this time?” Steven said aloud just as a face appeared at the window. 

The man who had seen Steven, opened the window and smiled. “Can I help you?”

“I’m sorry, I’m lost. I got separated from my friend, found this little town and then ended up here. Don’t suppose you know where I am?”

“You know you’re in Scotland?”

Steven didn’t know, could’ve been another planet for all the information he had, but he smiled awkwardly as though he did. “Of course, but what is this place?” He looked up at the old, magnificent building.

“It’s a military hospital. A place you come to for a bit of respite, heal the wounds of the mind, you might say.”

“I see.”

“That’s the polite way of putting it anyway.”

“I’m sorry to intrude,” Steven said, shivering. “I’m just really frozen out here.”

“Come to the door, I’ll let you in.”

“Thank you, your name?”

“Siegfried Sassoon. And yours?”

“Steven Taylor.”

“I don’t generally make someone’s acquaintance through an open window but I quite like it.”

…

Showing Steven inside the building which was instantly warm in contrast from the cold of outdoors, Sassoon led him to a fireplace as if he were an injured comrade rather than a lost traveller. They sat silently for a while, Steven wriggling his fingers over the flames and Sassoon observing him with interest. There was something quite queer about the man’s clothing he thought. 

“Feel any better?” Sassoon asked, wrapping a blanket around his shoulders.

“Yes, thank you, but I really should be on my way, leave you to it.”

“To what, my strange friend?”

Steven laughed. “I don’t know exactly.” He looked at some of the men in the room, many who were lost in their own thoughts or roaming the room impatiently and anxiously. He felt so terrible for them. He knew what they must have been through. His days as a pilot had shown him both the best and worst of humanity.

“I’ll show you outside,” Sassoon said as they walked out of the building into the night.

He lit a cigarette and offered one to Steven who declined. 

“Do they like you to go out at night?” Steven asked.

“It’s not exactly a prison. I don’t even know why I’m even here. Well, I do, but it’s not for the right reasons. Do you know what I mean, Steven Taylor?”

“I’m never anywhere for the right reason.”

Sassoon laughed. “You did arrive rather unexpectedly and now you plan to escape into the darkness as though you never existed. I was about to sit a while out here. Will you join me for a bit before you reconvene with your friend?”

“It’s a cold night, you want to sit outside?”

“I’ve grown accustomed to it. Besides, you’ll not freeze now, you’ve got that fetching blanket.”

“Alright then.” Steven sat down on a bench next to the soldier. He recognised the uniform his new friend wore from the many history archives he’d browsed over the years. But he wasn’t sure if it was WWI or WWII as he often mixed up the two and got a lot of the facts wrong about the 20th Century. How would he ask such a question?

“So, are you fighting in…the war?” He scolded himself for sounding foolish.

“I was. Things have taken a turn somewhat. Have you been out there?”

“I’ve fought in a war. I’m a pilot.”

Stubbing out his cigarette after a long drag, Sassoon looked at Steven with interest. “By George, you’re one of those flyers. Damn brave fellows, if not getting us chaps into trouble on the ground below. Still… always a handsome bunch.”

Steven laughed. “So…World War One?” He guessed.

“One? One hopes one would be enough.”

“I’m sorry, the year is between 1914 and 1918 isn’t it?”

“Are you sure you’re not a patient here? There’s plenty of chaps who get their years mixed up and plenty who want to forget those years exist. It’s 1917 my friend.”

“I’m sorry, I’ve been out of it a while, bit muddled with dates.”

“You always say sorry, is that a habit of yours?”

“It is when I get all my facts wrong.”

“No one seems to care about facts at the moment, Taylor.”

Steven could tell that something was bothering Sassoon beyond the hospital. 

“The treatment of our men whether by land or air is criminal. If only this blasted war would end. Too many of our chaps killed senselessly and for no reason anymore, if there ever was one. Oh, it just makes me…” he scrunched up his fist, and to stop himself filling with rage he took out his notebook and began scribbling with a pen.

“Letter to home?” Steven asked.

“Not quite. A poem. Poetry’s my game. I’m here to tell the truth of it all, sent here because I tell the truth of it all. I must counteract the lies they told us— not all that glory and honour nonsense they forced down our throats for centuries.”

“Know what you mean.” Steven sniffed the air. “Are your poems any good?”

Shivering in the cold air, Sassoon smiled and handed Steven the notebook. “Have a look for yourself.”

“I should warn you, poetry’s not really my thing,” Steven admitted, scanning over one of the pages, trying to decipher not only the language but Sassoon’s handwriting. In his day handwriting was a novelty rather than a necessity. “I’m sure it’s striking stuff but it goes right over my head.”

“Well at least you’re honest.”

“Hope I didn’t offend you. My old friend Vicki said I was too blunt which is rich coming from a young lady who says everything like it is.”

“Is she your sweetheart?”

Steven let out a loud laugh. “No, no, more like a sister. She’s very young. Long way away now. Still miss her.”

There was a pause as Sassoon looked up at the night sky. The wind caught his hair and tussled it slightly. Neither men said anything for several moments as together they gazed at the stars and the half moon that nestled in the blackness of the sky.

“I like it out here at night,” Sassoon finally said.

“I suppose hospitals are hard places to get to sleep,” Steven said.

“Men here scream out in the night as thought they’re still on the battlefield. There is no longer gunfire in this place, yet they hear it anyway. That’s why I come out here, to this glorious quiet place, to a silent night such as this.”

“When I was locked up, I suffered from nightmares.” Steven was surprised to find himself opening up in the way he was, baring his soul but Sassoon had a friendly face and a pleasant voice that made him want to share.

“I’m sorry for your troubles. And what about civilian life for you, Taylor? Who’s at home waiting for you?”

Steven looked away, feeling a tear rise in his eye. “I don’t really have a family anymore and the friends I’ve made along the way, well, so many have been lost.”

Leaning closer, Sassoon placed his hand on Steven’s and nodded. “I know the feeling but you have this friend you’re waiting for, a good friend, is he?”

“Yes, he’s a good man really. We fight a lot but he’s helped me too. He’s a bit of a survivor.”

“Well, now I suppose you may add me to your friends. A chance meeting on a cold, dark night. A poem could be made of this. Not my usual verse but perhaps later after this war, if there ever is a end to this madness, I’d quite like to think back on you.”

Steven felt his cheeks flush. Was a soldier from a war, hundreds of years before his time, flirting with him? He found he didn’t mind that much.

“Well I’d be honoured to be in a poem.” He resisted the urge to mention he’d already featured in one of Christopher Marlowe’s.

“How peaceful it is out here,” Sassoon said, taking a deep breath. “Feels like another planet to France.”

“Know what you mean.” Steven smiled. “You suppose there’s life on those stars up there or that we could travel up there?” He felt bad for teasing the soldier but was generally curious about Sassoon’s answer.

The poet thought for a moment. “On one hand I imagine beautiful sights and discoveries but on the other, I simply picture a bigger war but between worlds instead of nations.”

“Intergalactic ones? Yeah, I see that too. Whole galaxies in peril, evil aliens ready to terrorise.” He looked at Sassoon, noticing the sudden sadness and fear in his eyes. “I’m sorry, I can’t be helping.”

“No, no, it’s nice to talk. What else do you see up there for our future, you seem to have an affinity for it?”

“I see wonderful places, happy times. It’s not all going to be war you know? And this one won’t last, it never does.”

Sassoon grabbed Steven’s hand a second time, squeezing it tightly. “For some reason when you say it, I want to believe it.” He stared into Steven’s eyes for several moments, refusing to look away.

Suddenly the grumbling voice of the Doctor could be heard from the roadside and Steven jumped to attention like a soldier as if he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t. Sassoon watched as the old man came into view puffing and panting by the gate.

“Steven, my boy!” he called, pleased to see him.

“Your friend?”

“Yes, that’s him.”

Sassoon frowned. “I suppose then that this is goodbye?”

“I suppose it is.”

“Then I shall look back fondly at our silent night together.”

Steven shook Sassoon’s hand. “Don’t give up, it doesn’t last forever. And keep writing those poems I don’t understand.”

“Oh, there’s still fight in me yet, Mr, Taylor, if not for me then for the chaps I have to protect.”

Reluctantly leaving Sassoon’s side, Steven joined the Doctor at the gate and looked back at the handsome soldier, stood waving at him. 

“My goodness, my dear young man. I’ve walked miles whilst you’ve been here socialising.”

“Doctor, this is a military hospital not a social club!”

The Doctor nodded. “Yes, I can see. Terrible. Terrible. You made a friend hmmm?”

“His name’s Siegfried Sassoon. A very English gentleman with a not-very English name.”

The Doctor stopped still on the road. “Siegfried Sassoon? My boy, you were talking to the famous World War One poet?”

“Famous?”

“My dear boy, you are most uncultured.”

“I never liked poetry, Doctor, it goes right over my head.”

“You’ve just had an encounter in 1917 with the famous Mad Jack.” The Doctor shook with excitement.

“Mad Jack? Well, Doctor, I don’t understand. That man is quite wonderful, quite brilliant, quite lucid. Why, he doesn’t seem mad at all.”


	5. The Dancing Years- Dance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rudi and Grete are from 'The Dancing Years' written by Ivor Novello, but here specifically based on their portrayals by Anthony Valentine and Susan Skipper in 1979's TV version.

Running down the hill barefoot, Grete scooped up flowers as she passed, spinning happily on the spot as she reached the bottom. Humming one of Rudi’s compositions, she spun and spun until she felt dizzy, landing in a heap on the grass but still giddy with the excitement of a beautiful spring. The sun was out from behind the clouds and after a particularly cold winter there was warmth and life again. 

“Hello down there, little Grete,” a deep and smooth voice said.

Grete had her eyes closed, feeling the warmth on her eyelids but she knew it was Rudi— his voice so gentle and calm. Her eyes sprung open. “Oh Rudi, I do adore the spring.”

“You’ve tumbled, let me help you.” He reached out his hand and helped her to her feet.

“Wait, I picked these for you,” she said, scooping up the flowers once again. “They remind me of you, Rudi.”

“Pretty and delicate?” He grinned.

“Oh but you are both of those things as well as strong and masculine of course. I wish I were older than fifteen.”

“Darling Grete, if you were older than fifteen then you wouldn’t be able to run and spin and fall down hills whilst barefoot.”

She giggled shyly. “I suppose you’re right.”

“Spring is in the air at last,” Rudi said, taking a deep breath. “Music is all around. Can you hear it?”

He took her hand and led her to a large tree stump where they both sat down. “Can’t you hear how the birds twitter in the branches of those faraway trees or how those animals scurry into the woodland? How about the distant bleating of new-born lambs?”

“Yes, I can hear it all, Rudi.”

“Like a melody playing in our ears, nature provides its own tune.” He began humming.

“I don’t recognise that, is it new?”

“Made it up right this second, inspired by nature and by Grete.”

Whilst Rudi continued to hum his new tune, Grete began to dance around him, waltzing alone as he sat on the stump, whistling and humming merrily.

“Come on Rudi, dance with me to your new song.”

She pulled him to his feet and he took her in his arms and they began to waltz around the tree stump, spinning first, slowly, and then with consecutive rotations, gliding beautifully in a large circle as though there was no one in the world to disturb them. With Rudi humming it was as though they could hear a whole orchestra playing around them. 

“One day you shall be a dancer, Grete, I know it,” he said, gazing at her face. “You shall wear the finest gowns and meet the finest men.”

“I already know the finest.”

“Come Grete, I am an old man to you.” 

“Never. You’ll always be young, especially when you write such music. I don’t think I shall ever stop dancing to it. If one of your waltzes plays, I could be eighty and still get up to dance.”

“Oh Grete, darling Grete.” He picked her up, spun her around and then kissed the top of her head. “As much as I like to dance with you in Springtime, we need to get back for lunch. And I need some time at the piano. Genius doesn’t just come to me, despite appearances.” He laughed.

“Oh Rudi!” She hit him playfully.


	6. Callan- Bah Humbug

From Hunter’s office stepped David Callan in his grey coat, ready to go home for the evening after a long day of action. He stopped in the adjoining office when he saw Toby Meres standing next to a large bare Christmas tree by Liz’s desk. Meres was scratching his chin at the prospect of the colossal task of decorating.

“Blimey, big enough, Toby?”

“Are you talking about me or the tree?” He grinned.

Callan rolled his eyes. “I’m going home, my bed is calling me.”

“What’s it saying?”

“It’s saying I don’t spend enough time there.”

“I can vouch for that. Anyway, you’re not going home until you’ve helped me decorate this tree.”

“Bloody hell mate, I’m not here to put tinsel on trees and light twinkly things, I need sleep.”

“Hunter’s orders, old son, to get us all in the Christmas spirit.”

“Yeah, nothing says Christmas like shooting someone between the eyes. Tell you what after we’ve sorted out the red files, we’ll have a sing song and some mince pies.”

Meres sighed. “You are a miserable grump.” He shoved a cardboard box full of decorations in Callan’s arms. “You think I like decorating trees instead of taking a girl back to mine? Stop whining, the quicker we get this done, the quicker we can get you to bed.”

“For goodness sake!” Callan placed down the box and started throwing the stuff from inside onto the desk. He then began placing ornaments on the tree in any manner he felt like.

Meres shook his head and tutted. “David, David, you don’t have much flare for this do you? Rudolph can’t go next to another Rudolph.”

“Rudolph me old son, can stick his red nose where the sun don’t shine. Stop bothering me!”

Meres smirked and pointed at the box Callan was holding. “Nice baubles, David.”

Callan ignored him and began to untangle some Christmas tree lights whilst Meres fluttered around him placing more and more baubles onto the branches. When Callan turned around, Meres was eating a chocolate meant for the tree.

“Help me with the lights then,” Callan said. “It’s a big tree, we got a ladder?”

“No ladder.”

“Well then how are we gonna get the bloody lights up there then?”

“A bit of intelligence, David. Come on, I’ll give you a leg up.”

“Leg up where?”

“Alright, I’ll sit on your shoulders.” Meres climbed onto the desk flexing his foot and showing off his fancy shiny shoes. He motioned for Callan to bend down and get in position and then he climbed awkwardly until he was sitting on Callan’s shoulders. There was a wobble.

“Hope no one comes in,” Callan said. “With you riding me like a bloody horse.”

“Afraid of the rumours, David. Now, hold still, pass me the lights.”

After the lights had been placed and Meres was safely on the ground, the men stood back to admire the tree. 

“Shall I do the honours?” Meres said. He flicked the switch and the lights came on, flashing blue, green, red and gold. “See, not just pretty faces. We’re good at the whole decorating too. We could go into business.”

Callan folded his arms. “Are we done now?”

“Eager to go home and spend Christmas alone, are you?”

“Toby, why are you so intent on grating on every last nerve?”

“Because it’s easy and because you’re such a Scrooge. Does it say Bah Humbug at your front door?”

“Says the man who throws his rubbish at the carol singers.”

“So would you if you’d heard Silent Night so many times the night was no longer silent.”

“I couldn’t possibly know how it feels to be badgered into enjoying Christmas,” Callan said sarcastically.

Meres cleared his throat and started to sing. “Once in Royal David’s city, stood a miserable little man.”

Callan placed his hand over Meres’ mouth, leaving a trace of glitter over Meres’ top lip like a sparkly moustache. 

“I get it, I get it,” Meres said, holding his hands up in the air and backing away. “You’d rather be lonely this Christmas.”

Callan grinned. “I don’t think anyone wants to be Lonely at Christmas.”

“Ha good one, David.”

They both started to laugh and as Liz entered the room, Meres was laughing into the chest of Callan’s coat.

Liz smiled. “What’s so funny?”


	7. Raffles- Letter/Card

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Using prompts from day 11 and 18.

In high spirits and a spring in his step, Bunny whistled merrily as he walked into the Albany premises and greeted Beckett who was guarding the gate.

“Afternoon Beckett. A fine Christmas Eve.”

“Indeed Mr. Manders, that it is. Off to see Mr. Raffles, are you?”

“Oh yes. We always see one another Christmas Eve.”

“And Christmas Day and Boxing Day?”

Bunny wasn’t sure whether Beckett was joking or implying something but the man was far too loyal to ever say anything.

“We’ll see.”

“Well go on up then, sir, he got back half hour ago.”

“Back from where?”

“Don’t know exactly but I’m sure he’ll explain things seeing as you two are such pals and all that.”

Bunny nodded and handed Beckett a coin and a card. “Merry Christmas. In case I don’t see you tomorrow.”

“That’s mighty kind of you, sir.” He placed the envelope at the side of his booth.

When Bunny reached the top step, Raffles was already waiting with the door open and handed him a drink as soon as he entered.

“Speaking to Beckett?”

“Yes, just gave him his Christmas card.”

“Good, I must remember to deliver all mine.”

“You haven’t done it yet?! It’s Christmas Eve!”

“All in good time.”

“Oh, and speaking of which,” Bunny said. “Here’s a card for you, has a letter inside that is of a personal nature.”

“From whom?”

“From me, A.J!”

“You wrote me a letter? Why not say it to my face my dear fellow?”

Bunny gulped and blushed. “There are some things a chap can’t say to another chap in person.”

Raffles’ eyes glistened as he took a sip of his drink and then grabbed the paper knife and tore open the envelope. “I am trembling with anticipation.” He scanned the paper and looked briefly at Bunny. “Hmm, not to your usual standard of a love letter.”

Placing down his drink harshly on the table, Bunny folded his arms. “Well of all the ungrateful! I wrote you a heartfelt declaration and this is how you react? All we’ve been through expressed in verse, well I won’t deny I’m disappointed in you, A.J.” Bunny flopped down onto the settee, looking away dejected.

“I’m afraid you’ve quite lost your touch. This is stilted.” He began to read the letter. “Reads rather plainly too, recounting what we’ve done so matter-of-factly. I mean, take this: ‘Mr Raffles and I arrived at the Turkish Baths at 10 o’clock and stayed all night.’ I mean, Bunny, it reads more like a police statement than a declaration of your innermost feelings.”

Bunny jumped to his feet. “What are you talking about, Turkish baths? I poured my heart and soul into those words!” He paused. “Where’s the card with it?” He snatched the letter and also scanned over it. When he finished, his eyes were wide. “Oh my god!” He started swaying, then closed his eyes and gulped.

Raffles grabbed his arm to steady him. “What is it, my dear fellow?”

Stammering, Bunny felt suddenly hot, his face flushed, his breathing shallow. “If I’ve given you my police statement…then what did I hand into Scotland Yard this morning?”

“Oh Bunny you didn’t?”

Bunny nodded grimly and before Raffles could reply he suddenly passed out, landing onto the soft carpet. Raffles was by his side immediately. “Bunny, Bunny?”

When Bunny finally awoke, he was on the settee again where Raffles was dabbing his forehead with a wet flannel and gently stroking his now wet hair.

“A.J, I had the most horrible dream.”

“Afraid it’s quite real, my dear chap.”

Bunny rubbed his head and groaned, sitting up. He felt worse than he did when he had a hangover. “You mean, I really did hand in an embarrassingly truthful letter to Scotland Yard? What am I going to do?”

“Before the panic, first things first, what was in the letter?”

“Everything.”

“Written to me by name with your signature at the bottom?”

“Yes, explicitly.” Bunny bowed his head in shame.

“Detailing what?”

“Everything Raffles!” Bunny whimpered. “Detailing any number of things to lock us in Wormwood Scrubs for years and years.”

“I see.”

He lowered his head again. “Yes, I’ve been a fool.”

“No point dwelling on what’s been done, Bunny. We need to get that letter back by hook or by crook, if only for the fact I don’t intend Inspector Mackenzie to get his dirty hands on it before I’ve the chance to read it. He’d never understand the nuances.”

“I’ll be ruined, A.J, we both will.”

“I seem to remember you saying that once before and were you ruined then?”

“No but…”

“No because I’m at your side. We shall steal back that letter, Bunny, and by Jove I shall read it before the night is through!”

Getting up and pacing around the room, Bunny replayed the actions in his head from the previous night of writing his letter and indeed the morning of going to Scotland Yard and handing in what he thought was his statement. 

“I know what happened. It was when you telephoned me, Raffles. I got all mixed up and must have put them in the wrong envelopes. Really when you think about it, it was your fault, A.J.”

“My dear chap how you offend a man. I telephoned you as you asked me to at that specific time. I really don’t think the blame lay at my door.”

“Honestly Raffles, never willing to accept responsibility.”

They started squabbling, faces inches from each other when suddenly Raffles hushed Bunny with a finger to his lip. “Bunny, Bunny, arguing won’t get your letter back. My how you’re a rabid Rabbit when you want to be. Come now, it’s quite simple. It’s not the first time we’ve retrieved a letter. I refuse to return home tonight without reading your beautiful words to me.”

“I’m sorry, A.J, it’s just so darned mortifying.”

“Are you quite sure that the letter is at Scotland Yard? Did you not send any other cards that you were writing last night? You just told me you handed a card to Beckett.”

“Oh my god, you don’t think he has it?”

“It’s a possibility, Bunny, after all, placing a card or letter in the wrong envelope is easily done.”

“But if Beckett reads it!”

“Rather he than Scotland Yard. Did he open the card?”

“No, not when I was there.”

“Well then, let’s hope he’s been distracted.”

They said not a word to each other then as they ran for the door, raced down the stairs and both shouted ‘Beckett’ at the same time.

“Something wrong, Mr. Raffles?”

“No, no, Beckett. Did Mr. Manders hand you a card just now?”

“Yes, he did, sir, very generous of him too.”

“Have you opened it?”

“Was saving it.”

“May I have it for a moment?” Bunny said. “It’s possible I gave you the wrong one and I’d hate to have done that.”

“Not a problem, sir,” he replied, handing him the envelope. 

Bunny opened the envelope gently and scoured the contents. He breathed a sigh of relief. “It’s your card, A.J, thank goodness. And the letter is here too.”

“All well is it?” Beckett inquired.

“Yes, I do have your card, I’ve just mixed them up. I’ll bring it by later. Thank you, Beckett.”

Raffles was smirking as they made their way back to his rooms and shut themselves in the warmth of his Albany living room. Raffles immediately lit them both a cigarette.

“Phew!” Bunny said, flopping onto the settee again.

“Quite a crisis averted eh Bunny? I must say I’m rather disappointed I didn’t get the chance to break into Scotland Yard but I’m tickled pink at the thought of Inspector Mackenzie getting a Christmas card from you.”

“To Beckett you mean?”

“Even funnier.” Raffles laughed a deep laugh. “Well, let me see the real card and letter then.”

Bunny held it to his chest. “I’m a bit embarrassed now.”

“Give it here. It’s far too precious now after what it’s been through.” He snatched it away from Bunny and read the letter inside the card. He smiled and then folded it up. “Now that is much more like it, lovingly from the fist of my perfect Rabbit. I knew you hadn’t lost your touch.”

“You really like it, A.J?”

“J’adore.”


	8. Justice- Family

In the living room of Harriet Peterson on a chilly Christmas Eve, she and her work colleagues gathered to finish some last-minute paperwork that could not wait until the new year. Ian laid a tray of drinks on the coffee table and they all helped themselves.

“This is rather cosy,” James said, taking a sip from his wine glass and clinking it upon Rosie’s.

“Don’t get too cosy, James, we still have a lot to get through,” Harriet said, peering over her reading glasses.

“No reason why we can’t work and enjoy ourselves!”

Rosie let out a loud yawn. “Sorry Miss Peterson.”

James grabbed her hand. “Oh Rosie, oh Rosie, you’re exhausted. Harriet, I think we should send dearest Rosie home. You spending Christmas with your family, Rosie?” 

She yawned again. “Yes. With my brother and parents and my new boyfriend.”

James clutched his heart. “New boyfriend? My heart is broken. Our little Rosie is off the market.”

“James if you could cut the melodramatics,” Harriet said, glancing at Ian who was smirking over his newspaper.

“Who is he the new boyfriend?” Bill asked through a mouthful of chocolate.

Rosie dropped the paperwork she was holding. “I met him at the courtroom.”

“Ah a barrister or court clerk?”

Rosie smiled shyly. “Not exactly but he’s been let off.”

“Well as you’ve got homes to go to,” Harriet said, “Why don’t you head off, Rosie? James and I will keep ploughing on. Bill, why don’t you go too, take Rosie home?”

“Really Miss. Peterson?” Rosie said, rising to her feet. 

“Yes, before I change my mind.” 

Rosie bent down and kissed her on the cheek. “Happy Christmas, Miss.”

She walked with Bill to fetch her coat when James followed her to the door. “Ah ah!” He tapped his cheek.

“Oh Mr. Eliot,” she said with a blush and then kissed him on the cheek.

“A parting kiss until New Year.”

“Don’t expect me to kiss you,” Bill said, helping Rosie into her coat and glancing suspiciously at James.

“How you hurt me, William. I’ve been waiting all season. But go on, get out of here, back to your warm home and family, never mind us here slaving away over dreaded paper work.”

“Will do, and have a wonderful time yourself Mr. Eliot.”

Harriet, James and Ian watched them leave and then with a sigh, James sat down next to Harriet on the sofa.

“Some more food in order?” Ian said. “I’ll leave you two to it for a bit.”

“Isn’t he magnificent?” Harriet said.

“Very. You have him well-trained.” James nodded. “Harriet!!” he said clutching his heart in shock again.

“What is it? Have we made a mistake?”

“No, your glass is empty.” He lifted the wine bottle and poured her some.

Her eyebrow rose. “Honestly, James, how do you expect us to get work done when you’re getting me drunk and acting so dramatically?”

“Just trying to make it more Christmassy.”

“Hmmm.”

…

Laughing like schoolchildren, James and Harriet were now sat on the floor, leaning their backs against the sofa and with paperwork spread all over the carpet.

“I think I’ve already done this pile,” James said with a hiccup. He glanced at the clock. “Good grief, it’s midnight. It’s Christmas Day. Where’s Ian?”

“Sent him to bed half an hour ago. Happy Christmas, James.”

“And to you Harriet. Our first Christmas together. If we may take a brief break, I have something for you.” He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a little box. He handed it to her. 

“Oh James, you shouldn’t have.”

“It’s nothing much.”

She opened the box and was greeted with a rather tacky glass frog ornament. “Well… thank you. James. A frog?”

“A friend of mine recommended it highly.”

She laughed. “Was he drunk too?”

“Harriet! That gift was given with love.”

“But not with much sense.”

“You’re a tough customer, Harriet. What do I buy the woman who has everything? I can’t wrap myself up?”

Her eyes widened. “I’m thankful for small mercies, small being the operative word.”

Smirking, James handed her another present. “Good job that was the warm up present then, wasn’t it?”

“James, it’s too much.” She opened the second box to reveal an elegant patterned silk scarf. “Oh, this is actually very nice, James.”

“Meets your approval this time does it?”

She slapped him playfully, placing it around her neck before reaching into the sideboard cupboard and pulling out a wrapped present. “Here we are.”

James tore open the paper excitedly. “My first present so far.” Inside the box was a large leatherbound notebook. 

“For when you finally start that book of yours.”

“Ha, thank you, Harriet, wise indeed.” He kissed her cheek. “Just think. Bill, Rosie, you and I, we’re like a little family aren’t we at Chambers?”

“I suppose so.”

“Bill the grumpy uncle, Rosie the daughter, me the handsome nephew and you the…”

“Don’t you dare say grandmother.”

He laughed. “The elegant older sister.”

“That’s better.”

“I really am glad I work with you, Harriet.”

“Flatterer, you already have your gift.”

“Come on, it’s Christmas Day, shall we forget all this and leave it until New Year?”

“I thought you’d never ask.” She tossed some of the paperwork across the room. “Happy Christmas James. I never asked, what are you doing today?”

“Nothing. Just me, mooching around, eating too much, drinking too much, watching television too much, missing you too much.”

“On your own?”

“Well, the pub might be an option. Don’t worry about me, Harriet, I’m good company.”

“I’m not worried exactly but what about Christmas dinner?”

“A ham sandwich will be alright.”

“That won’t do at all James. You shall eat with us.”

“You’re cooking a big Christmas dinner for you and Ian?”

“Goodness no, we’re booked in at a restaurant. I’m sure I can pull a few strings and get you in with us. Rather pricey though.”

James grinned. “Your company is worth every pound.”

“Flanneler.”


	9. Doctor Who- Angel

Looking down at the table which was covered in material and crafting implements, Ian smiled as Barbara sewed on a shimmering button to a plain white item of clothing. 

“What’s all this, Barbara? Glitter?”

“It’s for John’s nativity and concert costume. He’s Angel Gabriel apparently.”

“I don’t remember any other Angel Gabriel being quite so glam. What’s with the glitter and sequins?”

“John’s in his glam rock phase, Ian, and he wanted me to embellish his costume.”

“And the school don’t mind?”

“Teacher suggested it, bit of a rebel too I shouldn’t wonder.”

“Glam rock phase.” Ian shook his head. “He’s seven. When I was seven, I had a puppet phase and then I had a space phase, said I’d be the first man in space, well, that might actually not be far off. Point is, isn’t he a little young to like those rockers with their sex, drugs and rock and roll?”

Barbara laughed. “It’ll just be the rock and roll for Johnny. He just likes the glamour and the sound of the music.”

“When is this concert nativity?”

“Tomorrow night.”

Ian kissed the top of Barbara’s head. “I’m looking forward to this. So, Barbara, what was your childhood phase? What did you want to be when you were seven?”

“An historian, Ian.”

He laughed. “So, you never grew out of yours?”

…

The Chestertons sat eagerly in the third row of the school hall the next evening, Ian holding a cine camera ready to capture the event.

“You know what you’re doing with that thing, do you?”

“Barbara, please, I’m a scientist.” Whilst she wasn’t looking, he checked to make sure it was turned on.

He then cheered as he spotted John walking onto the stage dressed in all white, his hair spiked up and wearing a green feather bower around his neck and a golden halo hanging to the side of his head. His wings were white with blue glitter all over them. His face was also covered in glitter and behind him were four little girls also dressed as angels with sequins on their dresses— holding a banner which read ‘Johnny Chess and the Halos.”

Ian and Barbara laughed.

“I thought he was meant to be Gabriel,” Barbara said. “He looks more like Elvis.”

“Move aside, Gabriel, Johnny Chess is in town.” Ian sniggered. “Our son has his own entourage at seven years old.”

Suddenly music blared from the speaker and some screechy children’s voices rang out around the hall. John grabbed an acoustic guitar and started to play the only two chords he knew over and over, running about the stage as though he was a rock star.

“Good job this camera doesn’t have sound,” Ian said, both proud but also slightly embarrassed by the sight on the stage that greeted them.

“Oh Ian, he’s only a beginner,” Barbara said, holding her hands to her face at the sight of John on his knees, his eyes closed, pretending he was playing to a large arena. Looking around at the other parents, Barbara felt her face redden at their bewildered expressions.

“Perhaps we better get him some lessons or it’ll be our ears that suffer. Maybe this isn’t a phase, Barbara.”

“Maybe not.”

When John finished, Ian and Barbara clapped enthusiastically as he bowed with extravagance, lapping up the attention.

“Well, that was the weirdest opening to a nativity I’ve ever seen,” Ian said.

“Yes, but it’s so strange, Ian, how he’s so confident up there. He’s such a shy boy but under that sort of identity, it’s like he came alive.”

“I think you’re right, Barbara.”

…

On Christmas Day, John sat excitedly by the tree and was beaming with happiness as his parents handed him a giant box wrapped in beautiful glittery wrapping paper. He tore it open quickly and stood staring in awe at the guitar that greeted him.

“Now you can have proper lessons,” Barbara said. “What do you think?”

John didn’t reply, just jumped to his feet and started running around the room yelling with happiness before crashing into his dad who was seated on the sofa.

“Well?” Barbara said. “Calm down, John, what do you say?”

“Thank you Mummy, thank you Daddy. A guitar! A guitar!”

“You must take good care of that instrument,” Ian said. “It wasn’t cheap. When I was your age, I got a microscope and I was told to take good care of it by my father.”

Barbara whispered into Ian’s ear. “Is that the one you said you broke the next day?”

“Yes. Exactly why I need to tell him to be careful.”

John jumped on his dad’s lap with a flying leap, forcing Ian to groan. 

“Can I play you a song, Daddy?”

“You know a song?”

“I made one up just now.”

Barbara laughed. “We’d love to hear it.”

“Come on then, Bolan,” Ian said. “Teach me the words and I’ll sing them with you. Perhaps you could do a song about me and your mum’s travels in space. You can beat Bowie at his own game. Forget Ziggy Stardust, meet the TARDIS two.”

John laughed. “That sounds stupid.”

“How about wanderers in the fourth dimension?” Ian replied.

“The Zarbi!” John shouted.

“He really does love the Zarbi,” Barbara said. “Out of all the things we’ve told him, he loves those ants.”

Barbara sat down beside them on the sofa, feeling all warm with Christmas cheer at watching her two favourite boys singing together. “I should take a photo of this.” She reached over and set up the camera and got them all into position. 

“Say cheese!” Ian shouted. 

“Cheese!” They all repeated. 

Snap, the picture was taken. Their little glam angel Rockstar was ready to begin his career.


	10. Raffles- Five Gold Rings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Poem

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this didn't go according to plan, not that there was a plan but at least something got done in the end :)

The gentleman thief in the angelic white gloves,  
by the safe, the cracksman does linger,  
ready to steal for the one that he loves,  
takes a ring to place on a finger.

As nimble as a cat, he flees from the house,  
and climbs the wall way up high,  
onto the roof, quiet as a mouse,  
above him the stars in the sky—

\--they twinkle so bright, but the ring is too plain,  
it’s dull and lost all its shine.  
He’ll have to start all over again,  
get it right and all will be fine.

But the second ring, from a jeweller no less,  
embellished so much it looks cheap,  
tacky and gaudy, oh such a mess!  
Too shallow for one who is deep.

The third ring he finds in a box full of jewels,  
at first glimpse, seems such a prize,  
he takes it so easily, how they are fools!  
So is he, for it’s the wrong size!

So ring number four is stolen in haste,  
during a grand costume ball,  
but this time it’s worse, and oh such a waste,  
for ring number four is too small.

And finally, at last, a fifth ring is found,  
so pretty and subtle and true,  
perfect for Bunny, at first not a sound,  
as he presents it out of the blue.

“What’s this in aid of?” dear Bunny cries,  
“it’s good stuff! Precious, divine.”  
“The pleasure of your company,” Raffles replies,  
“with the hope you’ll always be mine.”

So they snuggle together by the warmth of a fire,  
Raffles he then starts to sing—  
of the quest for gold, his one true desire,  
to steal Bunny the most perfect ring.


	11. Raffles- Christmas Present

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Following on from the Christmas past prompt, this strays completely from the prompt and is part 2. Part 3 will be for the prompt of Christmas yet to Come. Again, inspired by the film 'A Matter of Life and Death.'

With a sharp intake of air, I let out a high-pitched sob beating my last shriek by an entire octave. I, Sir Simon de Winterbourne, dabbed thine eyes with a handkerchief as I watched the image of the wilting flower Raffles on my large screen in my Angel Halls of Residence. 

“It’s nearly time. It’s nearly time.” I jumped from my seat, gliding my way to the ornate mirror that graced one whole wall of my bathroom and was lit with twinkly lights. It wasn’t really a functional bathroom, there was no plumbing and my body couldn’t physically use the facilities but having been raised in a time as mine on Earth, in a manner one was not comfortable with, in a class a lot lower than I ever admitted, it was a luxury to have one’s own privy and so why not have a bathroom just to admire?

I wiped the tears away from thine eyes and was applying a subtle pink shade of lipstick when my superior, the formidable former matron, Anne-Marie, appeared beside me.

“Simon, I’ve been alerted via your documents that Raffles is about to die. You have planned for it this time, haven’t you?”

“Of course I have. My whole life I feel I’ve been preparing for this moment…well my whole death anyway.”

She folded her arms. “Well, could you go down there and prepare him then?”

“I’m powdering my nose.”

“You’re dead!”

“So will he be. No reason I can’t look fabulous just because I’m dead. Besides, I’m an angel. We’re meant to be the pretty ones.” I glanced at my boss. “Though that can’t always be the case.”

“Just go, Simon. And get it right this time. We want A. J Raffles in our waiting room ready for processing.”

“You don’t really think he’s cut out for heaven do you?” I grinned. “You just want him on the cricket team.”

Anne-Marie spun around. “Just get Raffles!”

…

When I arrived on Earth, under the grey sky, the streets were heaving with people and I spun into view, my colourful outfit whirling like a kaleidoscope. Such a shame that not a soul could see me resembling a peacock, ready to impress.

“Earl’s Court, here we are,” I said to myself as I floated up the stairs of Raffles’ building. “I courted an Earl once, didn’t go well.”

I swung open the door dramatically and saw the polished wooden coffin on the table. I clutched my heart, preparing myself to witness his typhoid-ridden corpse but when I opened the lid and peered inside, instead of a cold body there was a pile of books placed there. 

I picked one up. “Oscar Wilde?” I threw it aside, picked up another. “Chaucer?” I sorted through them as if I was at a library and I was flinging books around like I had more than two arms. “And none of my verse is ever in anybody’s coffin!”

I heard a grumble from the next room and I gasped as I noticed the rather limp body of A.J Raffles still lying on the bed. Drat! I’d arrived too early. He was merely dying, not departed. I really needed to work on my timings.

Swanning into the room, I sat on his bed and reclined back. “Hello there.”

He was groggy but his eyes were fixed on me with shock. “Not you! I thought I had imagined you.”

“No quite real. Raffles, I have come here for you. It is time.”

“Not time, you fool,” he managed to squeak though his eyes were rolling back into his head.

“We can’t possibly talk here. It’s so full of illness and it brings back the memories.” I let out a sob, covering my nose with a handkerchief which I whipped from my sleeve as though I were a magician. 

Raffles tried to protest but I clicked my fingers and when I did, we were now sitting on that long, grand staircase to heaven. Up it went further in the direction of the pearly gates, and down it could go to Earth and even further still if you kept downward, you could end up at the underground and you get that other place that we dare not mention, where the stairs are no longer pure white like piano keys but the colour of blood. Today we were stopping in the middle, in the purgatory platform, until he ‘officially’ succumbed to the illness. And there we sat on those moving steps, side by side, ready to reach the middle.

“You’ll forgive my taking you from Earth so quickly, Mr. Raffles, but I couldn’t bare to see you suffer.”

“You fool! I’m not yours to be taken! I’m not dying.”

“Denial, Raffles, is rather unattractive. I did the same on my death bed and as Hector nursed me, I said to him, ‘tis not my time’, but alas it was.”

“No, you’ve made a mistake. I was only faking my death,” Raffles insisted, staring around at the white fluffy clouds we passed as we made our ascent. “I say, heaven’s rather pretty if not bit of a bland colour palette.”

“They don’t like re-decorating here. And what do you mean you’re faking your death? You’re dying of typhoid, your coffin was ready, I’m just bringing you early.”

“Sir Simon, it’s a fake death. I’m trying to get rid of a woman.”

“Ah I see! Been there myself. But isn’t that a tiny bit extreme?”

“It was working a treat until you arrived.”

“But what about Bunny, I’ve been watching his poor little face? He thinks you're ill, and you hadn’t told him of any plan.”

Raffles looked down. “It’s better he didn’t know. But I’ll tell him eventually.”

“Tell him? Raffles, I’m supposed to be taking you to be processed!”

“Well un-process me, I absolutely refuse to die before my time. What am I dying of? I haven’t actually got typhoid fever and I’m in perfect health!”

“Actually, you look rather clammy.”

“It’s a concoction Dr. Theobald put together.”

“So that scoundrel is in on it too. Life would be a lot easier if people didn’t pretend they were dying.” I placed my head in my hands. “Ah, what am I going to do? I told them you were arriving today. I promised I had it right this time. Anne-Marie was counting on me.”

“Who’s Anne-Marie?”

“Matron of the skies.”

“I’m sorry about that my dear fellow but you can’t take me up there now, I’ve got plans. Bunny and I have a cottage in Ham Common. My little Rabbit has secured it. Come with me, I’ll show it to you, have some tea, or something stronger like scotch whiskey?”

I flicked my hand in his direction. “Oh very well.”

And with a bow, a flash of my cape, we were standing outside the idyllic cottage in springtime with flowers in bloom and little lambs in the next field frolicking. It’d been so long since I’d had a frolic. I sighed. I spun on the spot again dreamily. Oh to be alive again.

“Isn’t it marvellous?” Raffles said. “I’ve not even really seen it.”

“Quite heavenly. But you’re showing me one side of this situation. What about poor Bunny standing at your graveside later, thinking you’ve perished? What about the fact that everyone will think you’re dead? How will that work?”

He placed his arm on my shoulder. “They already think I’m dead. It’s Mr. Maturin who’ll be no more and he’ll be missed by no one. Do keep up, Sir Simon. Can’t you just wave a wand and change the outcome. I mean, Raffles is already technically dead so nothing’s really changed has it?”

I stomped my foot! “Of all the cheek! Yes, it has, I’m supposed to be delivering you to Anne-Marie at four-fifteen.”

“I’m a person, Simon, not a package in the post.”

“Oh, we’re all packages. Some of us arrive a little worse for wear and some of us apparently…never arrive at all!”

“My dear chap, how you are like Bunny. Such a hot temperament. You must be cool, calm, collected. Approach those superiors of yours with confidence, elegance, determination and clearly state that it was all a mix up. Not your fault but A.J Raffles is not departing Earth yet and they’ll jolly well have to wait for me.”

“Fine.” I clicked my fingers and we were inside the cottage, he on the sofa and I atop the piano, stretching my leg upwards to see if were still as flexible as I once had been. “I always looked good in stockings.”

Raffles laughed. “Bunny does too.”

“Oh, I say, you’re making me quite blush.”

“Well, can I offer you a scotch whiskey, a Sullivan?”

“You can offer away as much as you like and I can accept but they mean nothing to me, I’m afraid. I’m an angel, I can’t consume earthly things, more’s the pity.”

“But you can touch things?”

“Yes, sometimes when it’s convenient.”

“Can’t you see how perfect it is here for me and Bunny? I don’t know how long it will last or what is to be in the future, but I have to try a little longer.” Raffles took a puff of his cigarette. “I’m not quite ready to shuffle off this mortal coil.”

“Pah, Shakespeare! ‘I’m so talented because I make up things’. I was robbed of my fame. I wasn’t allowed by some handsome angel to live on and on, cheating death at every opportunity. I had to suffer with boils, boils, Raffles. I had one on my…” I gasped. “At my groin.”

Raffles’ eyes widened and he tried not to look at the area concerned.

“Do you know I still get looks in heaven? Apparently, mine was not a heavenly body even though one does not bare the scars of death when one becomes an angel. However, the mental scars remain.”

“Then all the reason to let me not go through all that. Let me live longer. If not for my sake than for Bunny’s.”

“Oh Bunny, my Achilles heel. He is like my kin. I must protect him at all costs. Let us go to your funeral and see him.”

I waved my hat in the air and there we stood in that dark, grey, awful cemetery where the mourners were few and far between. We stood behind Bunny but he could not see us as we watched him standing over the grave, staring down as the soil was placed over the coffin. In black he looked as dark as his mood and his face was so pale, his eyes filled with tears. My heart went out to him. I slapped Raffles.

“You brute! No one should have to endure the death of the love of their life more than once.”

“I’m sorry. And I’m sorry to Bunny. But this was the only way it’d work. I didn’t want to spend my days as an invalid or as a common-law husband of Jacques.”

“Oh that dreadful painter woman? I was involved with an artist myself once, always ends in disaster.”

I watched for a moment as Raffles looked upon Bunny, observing as he sniffed, trying to suppress his tears. 

Raffles attempted to touch his shoulder but his hand went right through. He turned back to look at me. “I thought I was alive. I drunk the whiskey, I smoked, why can’t I touch him?”

“You’re in-between, Raffles, I’d commenced your departure.”

“No, you can’t!”

“Relax. You’re not dead yet. Only I can stamp the forms and process you.”

I snapped my fingers and suddenly we were inside the horse drawn carriage where we sat, squeezed in beside the real Raffles and Bunny, the Raffles who was in disguise to capture Bunny. 

“This is rather confusing,” I said watching as the real ghostly Raffles stared at his own face. 

“But I haven’t done this yet.”

“It’s a glimpse of what is to be.”

“Like Scrooge being shown what is to come?”

“Not that drastic, we still have another part of the story later. This is a glimpse of your immediate future.”

“What immediate future, I thought I was being taken now?”

“Oh hush. I needed to fast-forward a bit, see what happens and now that I have, I can’t possibly take you to heaven yet. You’re not ready, like an underdone steak, all pink and disgusting.”

“So I can stay?”

I froze the scene so that only I and heavenly Raffles could move. The real Raffles and Bunny sat there motionless as did the world around them. Horses still, people frozen on the spot, time nothing in that moment— just silence.

“I shall return you to where I first appeared, your bedroom at Earl’s Court where this will play out as you intended. But remain cautious, Raffles, this kind of life invariably catches up with you and I cannot protect you forever. Death will come a calling.”

“I know, and I welcome it when it’s time.”

He stared at motionless Bunny for a few moments before I whisked him away from that sight, and instead we were now in his bedroom. I sat on the bed, tucking him in, watching as he slept in his drugged state, pale and clammy and unlike the magnificent A.J Raffles I was used to. “Sleep well. For tomorrow you wake.”

…

“Simon!” It was the booming voice of Anne-Marie calling me as I sat in the viewing room watching Raffles and Bunny at Ham Common with Raffles assuming his new identity as Ralph.

“What is it?” I yawned. After several hundred years I’d had enough.

“Where’s Raffles?” She tapped her foot.

“He’s quite alive, I’m afraid, your cricket team will have to wait.”

“Again? How is it possible to do it wrong twice?”

I yawned again. “It was not Raffles’ time to die. He was faking his death and I got the wrong end of the stick. He’s going to die one day so don’t worry.” I reclined on the chair and placed my arms behind my head. “Just got to wait. What else is there to do for eternity?”


	12. Only When I Laugh- Dawn

A yellow light streamed in through the semi-open blinds of the ward of the hospital, where Norman Binns sat up in his bed, staring at the window. It was finally Christmas morning, though his mother was not there to bring him his stocking.

He sighed deeply, glancing over at Figgis and Glover who were both snoring in their beds. He let out another big sigh and they both stirred. Figgis grumbled.

“What time is it?”

“Not sure, but the sun’s coming up.” Norman smiled. “You know what day it is, don’t you?”

“Wednesday,” Figgis replied. “December 25th.”

“Fig! You can’t call Christmas Day, December 25th.”

“You can in non-Christian households.”

Norman laughed. “I see your point Fig, I just meant that we all celebrate Christmas, religious reasons or otherwise so why aren’t you excited that it’s dawn on Christmas Day?”

“Because we’ve lived through a great number of them, Norman,” Glover said, leaning over. “And they’re always a disappointment.”

“Maybe you’re right, Archie, but still, I’d rather live through some more yet, thank you.”

“You’re still young, you’re full of Christmas enthusiasm like a little child,” Glover said with a yawn. “Wait until the lonely Christmas days in your flat with not a soul to spend the day with.” He stifled a sob. “Crying into your sherry, wondering why mother had to be taken so early.”

“The thing is Norman, what is there to be happy about?” Figgis said. “We’re in the least festive place on the planet unless you think blood-pressure checks, bed pans and needles are festive? And I can’t touch any alcohol.” 

Norman held teddy close to his chest and climbed out of bed. “You’re both a couple of scrooges. I wouldn’t be surprised if Jacob Marley appeared at any moment, telling you three ghosts are on their way.”

“Let them do their worst,” Figgis said, joining Norman by the window. “I’ve been close to death so many times, I see ghosts every night of the week.”

Norman gazed at the view outside, the orange light streaming through the bare trees beyond the carpark. “Look at that sunrise. Another day has arrived and we’re still here. It’s a gift.”

“But for how long, Norman? This could be my last Christmas.” Glover got out of bed and hobbled over to the window.

“But Archie, all the more reason to enjoy the day.”

“What?”

“No, I don’t mean this is your last, I mean live it like it’s your last.”

“Any day could be your last in this place,” Figgis said as he looked outside. “Oh look, there’s Gupte arriving. Gupte won’t care what day it is.”

“We still need to be nice to him, Fig.” Norman gazed at the sky for a few moments before turning to Glover. “What were your Christmases like as a child, Archie?”

“Oh they were splendid, Norman. Mother in the kitchen in a stunning gown whilst our cook slaved over a tremendous goose. And the Christmas morning hunt. Then a ball, girls twirling in divine dresses under a glittering chandelier. I peering at them from behind the bannisters, wondering when I was old enough to hold such a beautiful creature in my arms and waltz around that floor.”

“Wonderful,” Norman said, waltzing with teddy. “And what about you, Fig, were yours much the same?”

“Were they heck as like! We were still on rationing where we were. Mother in the kitchen slaving over a miniscule turkey for eight. Then it was the hunt for where someone had left the last chocolate. Then girls of the next street necking down dad’s whiskey whilst the older boys tried to get a glimpse of their stockings as they cavorted down the cobbles. I used to watch from my window and hope I one day would get a feel.”

“Oh…well…that sounds wonderful too, Fig.”

There was silence for a moment and Glover and Figgis exchanged glances.

“Isn’t anyone going to ask me?”

Rolling his eyes, Figgis prodded Norman. “Go on then, how was Christmas at Maison Binns?”

“It was a rather quiet affair. Mother in the kitchen cooking whilst scolding me for not helping. Her setting a place for Dad even though she knew he wasn’t coming home ever again. The hunt for religious proverbs she’d hidden in the stuffing. Watching the Queen’s speech whilst wearing paper hats, hoping that someone else would visit. It was wonderful.”

“Rose-tinted glasses,” Figgis said. “Fact is, Christmas has become a capitalist holiday.”

Glover laughed. “So you won’t want the present I got for you, seeing as it’s all become about money?”

“I didn’t say that.” 

“Please let’s enjoy our Christmas and not argue,” Norman said. 

“Christmas is about arguments,” Figgis said. “It’s practically the rules.”

“It’s a new dawn. We’ve never had Christmas together, just us three. Isn’t that something?”

Figgis softened. “You’re right, Norman, and it could be worse, I could be spending it with Edie and the kids.”

“They’re not coming to visit you today?” Glover asked.

“They can’t get a bus today; thought it’d be easier to wait until new year.”

“Well, we don’t need family,” Norman said. “We have each other.”

Glover dabbed his eye with his handkerchief. 

“You crying Archie?” Norman said, patting him on the arm.

“Of course not, I have light in my eyes.”

It was at that moment that Gupte arrived in the ward, carrying a bundle of cards. “Happy Christmas,” he said.

“Thank you, Guptie,” Norman replied opening the card that was handed to him. “And a happy…25th to you.”

“Thank you, Norman. I do enjoy Christmas Day at work. Decorations and presents, no doctors, and the patients are reflective on Christmas pasts.” 

“I got a card from Dr. Love!” Norman exclaimed. “Looks like he and Daniel spent Christmas in Australia. There’s a photograph of them on the beach in trunks!”

“It’s alright for some,” Figgis said, folding his arms. “We’re at death’s door and he’s getting a tan.”

“Remember Fig,” Norman said, “we’re meant to be appreciating what we have.”

“Oh yeah, alright, I’ll appreciate the not being joined up properly.”

“Remember the simple times when you were a kid, that way you liked Christmas.”

“Yeah. An apple and a satsuma in my stocking. That’s all we got in those days, none of these games and modern toys. It’s all commercial now.”

“So you’ve said,” Glover replied. “In that case, I have your present right here.” He reached into the fruit bowl, grabbed an apple and threw it at Figgis. “Here you are, catch. Just like old times.”

The apple hit Figgis on the head. “Come here!” 

Norman sighed as he watched Figgis chase Glover around the ward, aiming the apple at him.

“Gentlemen!” Gupte said. “This is far too much exertion. Get back into bed.”

He waited for them to agree and then hurried from the ward to attend to other duties. When he’d left, Norman smiled.

“I really love Christmas time,” he said. “And I really love you two.”

“Blimey, Norman,” Figgis said. “Dr. Love been rubbing off on you?”

“Don’t you love me, Fig?”

Figgis shuffled uncomfortably. “Well…yes…I suppose… as a friend mind.”

“And you Archie?”

He also shuffled uncomfortably. “Why yes, I suppose that’s correct, Norman, there is some affection for you two as well, though a chap does rather find it hard to say such things.”

“Happy Christmas you two,” Norman grinned. “And to many more.”

“To Christmas future,” Figgis replied. “If we have any.”


	13. Callan- Old Friend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have ignored the prompt for today and gone with a new idea. Have imagined that Jem would be 'played' by Christopher Strauli if it had been on TV.

“I didn’t go to your school, why am I being dragged along to this whatever it is?” Callan moaned as Meres shoved him into the black cab driven by Lonely.

“I didn’t want to turn up alone, David. It was short notice, no time to find a bird.”

“So, I’m your plus one?”

“You can see it anyway you like, David, I just don’t want to see my old friends as the billy no-mates.”

“Bloody hell.” Callan folded his arms and refused to engage in conversation for the entire journey. In fact, he closed his eyes and began to hum whenever Meres tried to talk.

“You know, old son, you are so childish? I’m going to the school reunion but apparently you’re still at nursery.”

Callan stuck his fingers in his ears. “Can’t hear ya, mate.”

It was then they pulled up at a fine-looking house in the countryside with a large gravelly driveway and an expensive car parked outside. Callan and Lonely whistled at the same time.

“Must be nice to have money,” Callan muttered.

“You’re telling me, Mr. Callan,” Lonely said.

“It’s my old school friend Jem’s house. He lost the draw to have the reunion at his place.”

“Good job you didn’t lose. School reunion at your flat, not quite the same feel.”

“True.”

“So, this Jem a close mate?” Callan said, stepping out of the car.

“He was my fag.”

“Blimey, mate, they didn’t still have those when you were at school? I thought they went out of fashion along with diphtheria and smallpox.”

Meres laughed. “To be a fag was still as deadly. This was public school, David, not your local hovel. And if it makes you feel better, I treated Jeremy with the upmost curtesy. Besides, it was university where we really became friends.”

“You tortured him at school, didn’t you?”

“Hand on heart, David, I only mildly teased him. He was a nice chap, far too soft to bully. Would never have been a fair fight.”

“How nice of you,” he muttered sarcastically. “Shall we just get inside? I’m freezing my arse off out here. Lonely will you come back in a few hours, pick us up?”

“Alright then, Mr. Callan,” he said, leaning his head out the window. “Hope you enjoy your posh nosh and do.”

They watched as Lonely drove away and then Meres knocked jauntily on the door. It was opened, and a handsome golden haired baby-faced man greeted them with a smile.

“Toby Meres!” he grinned.

“Jem Fletcher!” Meres embraced the young man. “You haven’t changed a bit, Slugger.”

“Slugger?” Callan mouthed.

“Nor have you, Stinker,” Jem said, laughing.

“Stinker?” Callan mouthed again.

“Ignore him, he’s my colleague, David Callan.”

“Actually, I’m his plus one,” Callan muttered.

Jem shook his hand. “Nice to meet you, Callan. Come in you two, welcome to my humble abode.”

“Humble?” Callan said, glancing around at the mansion.

“Ignore Callan,” Meres said, “He’s jealous as he was brought up in piles of rubble. The Nazi’s targeted him personally, dropped a bomb on him.”

Callan stuck out his tongue as Meres placed his arm around Jem and they left him behind in the hallway to take off his coat and scarf. When he joined them in the living room, Meres had Jem in a playful headlock.

“And I came because?” Callan said to himself, watching as the two men wrestled on the sofa. He coughed to get their attention. “Excuse me, but where are the others?”

“Others?” Meres said, getting off of Jem. He still held Jem in a headlock.

“The other guests, mate, you know, the school reunion?”

“Oh yes, forgot there was going to be others.” Meres looked around. “Where are the others Slugger?”

Jem flashed his best smile, the look of innocence itself radiated out of him. “They’re late. It was such short notice that there were a few cancellations and some are on their way.”

“More drinkies for us then,” Meres said. “David, what are you having?”

Callan was quiet, glancing around at the room. He shook Meres away. “Nothing mate.”

“Party pooper. Come on Jem, show us the good stuff.”

…

After an hour of drinking, Callan was growing tired of waiting for the other guests and sat perched on the chair uncomfortable and bored. He looked at his watch and then at the window.

“I’ll fetch you something to eat, David,” Meres said, eyeing him up and down. “You sickly, old son?”

“Perhaps.” Callan kept his answers brief.

“Come on, Callan,” Jem said, grabbing his hand, “Come dance with Toby and myself.”

“No thanks, mate.”

“Don’t worry, David, little angel-faced Jeremy can’t possibly bite, can you, Slugger?” He grabbed Jem around the waist and flung him onto the sofa again. 

Jem thrashed his arms about in Meres’ clutches. “You bloody Stinker, unhand me at once!” His giggles were stifled by Meres’ strong arms around him.

“Bloody hell,” Callan said, getting up and walking to the double doors. 

Out of breath, Meres let go of his old friend and headed to the door. “I’ll get some more booze from the cellar. Lighten up, David. When I get back, I expect you two to be getting on like a house on fire.”

Turning on the light and then walking down the cellar steps whilst whistling, Meres smiled as he reached the bottom and saw the rows of vintage wine in a rack. “Good ol’ Jeremy.”

Suddenly there was the sound of the door opening and closing again and he was then plunged into darkness as someone turned off the light. Meres looked upward as he heard footsteps travelling downward.

“Is that you, Jem?”

There was no reply, only the continued sound of the footsteps reaching the bottom step.

“Callan?”

The light came back on in that second and Meres jumped backwards, noticing Jem standing in front of him, gun in hand, pointing it directly at him.

“Bloody hell, Jem, you startled me. That’s some weapon, where’d you get it?” A sudden peculiar feeling washed over him as he saw the innocence in Jem’s looks fade away, replaced by a menacing anger in his stare. “Jem?”

“Upstairs, now, Toby.”

“What the hell is happening here, where’s Callan?”

Jem pointed the gun to Toby’s back. “Upstairs!”

“Is David dead?”

“Out of action one would say.”

Meres walked slowly upstairs, feeling the gun dig into his spine. “Stinker, this was all a trap?”

“You were too blind to see it.”

They reached the living room and Meres spun around to face his own friend, watching as the gun now pointed at his heart. “We were friends.”

“Nothing personal. You went your way and I mine.”

“You were recruited? You always were easily led.”

“This time not by you, Toby.”

Meres bowed his head. He didn’t feel let down many times in his life but in that moment, he felt everything he had believed in crash around him. “No point aiming at my heart, Jem, it’s already broken. In fact, I haven’t had one for years, thought today perhaps I did and now it’s gone again. I was right all along, you see, you can’t trust anyone, or get close to anyone. You’re better off alone. I’m just disappointed it was you, Jem.”

There was a brief look in Jem’s eyes that made Meres wonder if there was guilt and a hint of regret.

“Carrying out orders, Toby, just like you, just like we were taught. You gave me orders, drilled in to me, even then.”

“I treated you well, like a friend. I thought we were friends.”

“We were, we are.” His hand shook.

Meres glanced down at Callan who was in a heap on the floor, blood dripping from a head wound. “What you done to him?”

“He’ll be alright, looks worse than it is.”

“Can I see?” Meres bent down and examined Callan, dabbing his head with his handkerchief. “You didn’t have to hit him.”

“Maybe not, but he knew, Toby, knew more than you were willing to see.”

Pacing the room, Meres’ voice raised. “Well, I didn’t want to bloody see it, did I? I didn’t want to believe that my old friend, my close friend would turn against me like this! I can see now I meant nothing to you.”

“If you believe that then you’re stupid.”

“I suppose they’re coming soon, are they?” Meres glanced at the window.

“On their way.”

Callan began to stir, groaning and mumbling as he clutched his forehead. 

Meres was at his side. “It’s alright, old son.”

“Let me at him!” Callan said, trying to stand, trying to grab his gun but feeling too dizzy to walk and think straight.

“Steady, David, we’re in a bit of a situation but I don’t believe Jem will pull that trigger.”

Callan snorted. “He might not but someone else will, mate.”

Meres stood directly in front of Jem and held his hands in the air. “You want us? You’re going to have to shoot me, Jem.”

“Bloody hell, mate, don’t do the heroics!” Callan said.

Jem’s finger hovered over the trigger. 

“You don’t want to do it,” Meres said.

“Shut-up Stinker!” he cried. “I’m not meant to do it.”

“But you couldn’t!”

“Shut up.” Jem lowered the gun. “Get out.”

“You what?” Callan said.

Jem stared into Meres’ eyes. “Get a head start, just go before I change my mind.”

Meres froze to the spot, unsure what to do. 

“Bloody hell mate, get a shift on.” Callan grabbed his arm and pulled him from the room. 

Before he left, Meres took one last glance at his old school-friend. They raced to the back of the house where luckily Lonely was pulling up in the taxi, earlier than scheduled.

“Lonely, I could kiss you!” Callan said.

“I’d rather you didn’t, Mr. Callan, if you don’t mind,” he replied.

Callan shoved Meres into the cab. “Just move and fast!”

When they were away from the house and onto the road to safety, Callan took a look at the pale, saddened face of Meres. He’d never seen him in such a state, never seen him affected by anything or anyone. Lonely was glancing at them through the rear-view mirror.

“Everything alright with Mr. Meres? He don’t look well, gawn all white, Mr. Callan?”

Lonely expected a witty comeback but instead Meres sat there, vacantly staring out of the window, refusing to speak.

“We’ve been betrayed before,” Callan said with a sniff.

“Not by him.”

…

Reaching Meres’ flat, Callan helped him inside and set him down on the sofa before walking to the kitchen and cleaning his wound in the kitchen sink. It was a superficial wound and Jem hadn’t hit him very hard—another clue that he was not the man he was trained to be.

Callan arrived back in the living room and sat beside Meres who was gulping down a drink.

“You knew all along, didn’t you?” Meres said hoarsely. 

Callan held a damp cloth to his head. “Saw it right away.”

“You never said.”

“Kept waiting for you to figure it out. You’re good, Toby, can’t understand why you were so oblivious.”

“Because it was Jem! You call me slow.”

Sniffing, Callan patted his shoulder. “You can’t trust anyone in this game.”

“I didn’t think he was in this game. I thought he was separate. I thought he was different. I thought he was an innocent.”

“Who needs friends eh?” Callan laughed. 

Meres let out a brief laugh. “Truer words. Good job we’re not friends then, eh, David? The day you betray me, I won’t feel so bad.”

“If anyone will betray the other, it’ll be you, mate!”

“Bastard. I’d never betray you. I’ve always been honest in my dislike of you.”

“And I’ve always been honest with you. What you see is what you get with me, Tobe.”

Meres took another swig from the vodka bottle. “Maybe I should just jack it all in, change my identity, my name, who knows?”

Callan laughed. “Toby or not Toby, that is the question?”

“You bastard,” Meres laughed, shoving Callan. “You bloody bastard. I may hate you but boy can I trust you.”


	14. Raffles- Champagne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A poem inspired by the buttle of bobbly scene.

Raffles said be cool as steel,  
not hot as a burning fire,  
order some champagne he said,  
whatever you require.

Not so easy when your temperature is rising,  
and you order a ‘buttle of bottly’,  
the waiter stared, it was unsurprising,  
but I was feeling hot-ly.

I tried again to order a drink,  
but it came out ‘buttle of bobbly’,  
I didn’t even have time to think,  
as my words came out all wobbly.

For soup I ordered he and pam,  
instead of ham and pea,  
for meat I ordered Lug of Limb,  
Oh what was wrong with me?

And then from there, it got worse and worse,  
when I tried to order English trifle,  
there seemed to be a speaking curse,  
as it came out as ‘Tinglish Rifle’

Raffles smiled and beckoned the waiter,  
more champagne he suggested.  
‘It goes well after fine po-ta-tah,  
and a bubble of buttly as requested’.


	15. Only When I Laugh- St. Nick

Standing in a line behind some children near the day room of the hospital, Norman waited patiently at the back of the queue, bobbing up and down and trying to see through the door ahead. It was a moment later that Figgis and Glover arrived behind him wearing bah humbug Christmas hats.

“What are you doing, Norman?” Glover asked, watching as a child exited the room holding a toy train under his arm.

“I’m waiting to visit Father Christmas.”

Figgis laughed. “Sorry to disappoint you, Norman, but Santa isn’t in the day room, he’s at the North Pole.”

“No, no, not the real Santa. Someone’s dressed as Father Christmas and I’m going to see him.”

“Norman, aren’t you a little old to sit on his knee?” Glover said.

“I’m in hospital, Archie, I could do with some cheering up.”

“If sitting on Santa’s knee perks you up, you’ve got problems, Norman,” Figgis said.

“Shut up Fig! Mother never took me to see Father Christmas, I’m just seizing my opportunity.”

“Good on you, Norman,” Father Christmas said as he appeared at the door and called him in. “I’ve got time for one more good boy.”

“Father Christmas knows my name!” Norman said.

Figgis and Glover followed Norman inside like they were his parents.

“Here’s my favourite patient,” Father Christmas said merrily.

“Father Christmas thinks I’m his favourite patient!” Norman said, grinning.

“Come sit on my knee, Norman. No one is too big to sit upon it.”

“What’s his game?” Figgis whispered aside to Glover as Norman perched himself on Santa’s knee.

Glover rubbed his moustache. “I don’t know, Figgis, but there’s something familiar about those lovely eyes…I mean, that face.”

Figgis squinted. “Now you mention it, he does seem familiar.” They edged closer to him to keep watch.

“That’s because you know me,” the voice said and let out a deep chuckle. He pulled the beard down for a moment, making sure the kids who were leaving at the door didn’t see. “It’s me, jolly St. Nick.”

“Dr. Nicholas Love?” Glover whispered. “You’re dressed as Father Christmas? I thought you were abroad?”

“I was. I’m home for Christmas though. I do this every year for the children.”

“Of course he does, Saint Nick, how very apt,” Figgis muttered quietly.

Norman grinned. “Oh I thought your aftershave smelt familiar!”

“So, what do you want for Christmas, Norman?” Dr. Love said with Norman still sitting on his lap. “A motorbike? Crash helmet?”

“I’d like a holiday or a girlfriend, but failing that I’d like myself, Fig and Archie to feel better.”

“I’m sure that Father Christmas can sort that out.” Dr. Love smiled widely.

Figgis leaned into Glover. “Not unless Santa is a specialist.”

It was at that moment that an elf arrived by Father Christmas’ side. He was wearing very tight green tights and pointy shoes. “Come on, Nick, last one for now, we need to get lunch.”

“Thanks Danny.”

Dr. Love slapped Norman playfully on the knee. “Come on, Norman, my favourite patient, let’s get you back to your ward.”

When his partner Daniel had closed the door, Dr. Love began to remove his Santa outfit to reveal a vest and tight red leggings underneath. “Excuse the state of undress fellas.”

“That’s quite alright, Dr. Love,” Norman said. Glover and Figgis however, didn’t know where to look at the sight of Dr. Love and Daniel in their very tight tights.

Back at the ward, Dr. Love and Daniel chaperoned the men back to bed and poured them each a glass of wine. 

Dr. Love sat beside Norman on the bed whilst Daniel waited for him at the door. “Now fellas. Tomorrow we’re doing a nativity show. You three would make perfect wise men. What do you say?”

“Glover would be better off as Herod,” Figgis said. 

“Herod?! I have far too much charm to be Herod. You’d be the donkey, Figgis.”

“Give over, I’d be the innkeeper. Norman could be baby Jesus,” Figgis laughed.

“I’d love to play a wise man,” Norman said, ignoring the other two. “I can bring the myrrh.”

“Well I’d obviously bring the gold,” Glover said, sitting up proudly.

“Course you would,” Figgis snorted.

Dr. Love ran a hand through his hair and stood up, still wearing the red tights and vest. “Knew I could count on you fellas. Norman, my favourite patient, you’ve helped me out once again.”

Norman cheered and raised Teddy in the air. “Anything for the wonderful, handsome, jolly Saint Nick!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a last minute fic after realising that we'd called Dr. Love 'Nick' in previous fics.


	16. Raffles- Knees of the Angels

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part three and final chapter following from Christmas Past and Present. Once again lovingly inspired by the film 'A Matter of Life and Death.'

I stood there, an angel against the backdrop of hell, only not hell in its literal sense but hell on earth with fire and flame, guns and bayonets, men screaming and crying— death all around and blood seeping through every bit of nature, trickling down the land like a gentle stream of not blue but red.

How my people in that heavenly place above could allow this to happen was something I couldn’t comprehend and I could’ve taken any of those poor souls to heaven with me for death was to claim many of them, and around me I saw other angels like me, watching and waiting like some morbid peeping Tom’s, waiting for their charge to die and accompany them on that long stairway to the sky. 

My assignment however had finally reached its last chapter. It was A.J Raffles’ time and there he was next to Bunny as he had been for the best days of his life. Bunny was drifting in and out of focus, deep with the pain of a war injury. But it wasn’t Bunny’s time to be taken and was not he I was to collect. It was just A.J Raffles. He had cheated death two times before but at last the day had arrived and heaven would be richer and the earth poorer.

I waved my cloak in the air and all the action stopped still like a photograph. The sound of deafening gunfire ceased and for a moment there was peace all around. I looked at the handsome face of A.J Raffles and he was looking back at me, his face dusty, his eyes lost with confusion. He was the only one awake and alert as though he were alive whilst the others lay dead but merely frozen in time.

“What happened?” he cried.

“They’re not dead, just stopped for a moment.”

“Why are you here?”

“Do you really need to ask, my friend?” I wiped a tear from my eye with my hand.

He nodded. “I see you’re dressed for the occasion.” He gave me the once over, glancing at my crimson cape and golden tunic with matching red tights.

“One never knows what to wear to war. It’s so sombre, so depressing, so full of blood which is notoriously difficult to remove from clothing. Naturally that’s why I chose red. That’s why they used to paint the floors red on ships, you know, to disguise the blood? Not that I’m expecting to be boarded but still.”

“So, it’s time then?” He bowed his head but there was the mature sound of acceptance in his tone. He sat there looking at Bunny and once again my heart went out to him. “Is it Bunny’s time too?” His natural concern was his companion and not himself and yet my superiors questioned his suitability for heaven.

“No, not his time.”

I’d been watching the two of them for years, had seen them volunteer and had seen Raffles dye his hair that ghastly shade of orange. I had seen them battle together over those months and I’d wanted to scream out and tell them that it all wasn’t worth it. No war in history had been worth it. But alas I wasn’t allowed, an angel was cursed, burdened to never intervene in the way they wanted. I’d broken the rules before and now I was destined to take Raffles to heaven as it was his time. It wasn’t a human’s choice. It was on the knees of the angels.

“It’s alright, Sir Simon, I expected you.”

“You’re surrendering as easily as that?”

“How long have I got?”

“A few minutes. Then I resume time.”

Raffles nodded. “Then I shall go out on a high, do it my own way.”

I shook my head. “Why is that so important?”

“Coming from the most dramatic fellow I’ve ever met!”

“So…I’ll see you in a few moments then?” I said, barely able to look him in the eye. I hated this part.

“Let me look upon Bunny for a moment and then you may do with me what you wish. Will Bunny be watched over?”

“Bunny will have his own angel when it’s his time.”

“I hope the angel is like you.”

I touched my heart. It felt wonderful.

Raffles stroked Bunny’s hair. “Bunny is an angel. No offence, Simon, but Bunny was always my guardian angel.”

I let out a high-pitched sob and pulled a handkerchief from my magnificent sleeves. “No offence taken. I can’t do this!”

“Do what?”

“Watch you die.”

“Then don’t. Leave Simon. Come back when it’s done. Come back when I lay still with no breath in my body, no beat in my heart, no warmth on my skin.”

I turned away. “Oh, there’s no point in getting poetic now! You’re worse than Bunny.” I folded my arms and stamped my foot into the dirt. “No, that’s it. I’ve quite made my mind up. Thou shall not die yet. I’m appealing.”

Raffles grinned. I dared not hope he was flirting with me for a moment. 

“Yes, you are appealing, Sir Simon, but how does that help me?”

I shook him away with a flourish of my hand. “No, you silly goose. I’m appealing the decision for us to take you so early to thy death.”

“You can do that?”

“I’m an angel with hundreds of years’ experience. Honestly how you insult me, Mr. Raffles. If I say I can appeal, then I can do so.”

I clicked my fingers and thankfully we were away from that horrid, burning, stinking place and instead on that tranquil stairway to heaven.

“What are we doing old chap?” Raffles said as he watched the angel band play their instruments on one of the clouds. “I expected harps.”

“Such a stereotype! What’s wrong, prey tell, with a recorder trio?”

Raffles held his hands over his ears. “Not very heavenly.”

“Alas the best musicians never made it up here.”

Suddenly there was a puff of smoke and then we stepped through onto heaven’s platform, slipping through a giant golden gateway to a glittering white expanse. We wiped the clouds from our hair and stood waiting as the formidable figure of Judge Winifred stood greeting us in her long white robes and white curly court wig. Heaven favoured the English traditions when it came to court apparel. Why, no one was certain, but there was something quite dramatic and alluring to that image of such authority.

She looked at me, her hair white and scraggily underneath the wig, her eyes glaring at me behind glasses. “Not you again, Simon de Winterbourne. And who is this?” she glanced over her spectacles. “Is it the cricketer finally?”

“Ah yes and no.”

“He plays cricket or he doesn’t play cricket? Our side is rather lacking in talent.”

“He plays for the other side,” I said.

Raffles stepped forward. “Your honour, I do rather resent being asked for me cricket like I’m a member of the staff under obligation.”

She looked at Raffles and then back at me. “So, is he Raffles or not?”

“Well, he is Raffles obviously, and he does play cricket when he wishes but he’s not quite dead yet. He’s here temporarily as it were, that is, I’m appealing.”

“Not from where I’m standing, you’re not.”

“No! Not me! I’m appealing the decision.”

“On what grounds?”

I let out another sob. “On the grounds of his love for Bunny. His love of beautiful things. The way he makes the world beautiful.”

She sighed. “Simon, how you wax poetically about another charge you’ve fallen in love with is no grounds for keeping someone alive.”

“I’m not in love with him, I’m in awe of him. Bunny is the one in love with him, oh do keep up, Judge!”

“Still not grounds for keeping him there.”

I folded my arms. “Well, it should be. What’s the point of a beautiful world if we take all the beautiful souls for ourselves?”

“For a beautiful eternal paradise?”

“Or to play cricket apparently,” Raffles muttered.

“And suddenly you don’t look so beautiful, sister!” I said to the Judge, wagging my finger at her.

I was about to say another word when she pointed at me and my lip suddenly had a button right in the middle. I tried to open it but it was purely for decoration like one of those stupid pockets for show and not for any real purpose. I tried to speak but alas my words were trapped in my mouth the way in life my controversial writings of verses to young men were hidden and kept away. 

“If I may on Sir Simon’s behalf,” Raffles said with a smile.

“I do wish you’d stop calling him that. He’s not a Sir, he’s a washed-up has-been playwright who uses Sir to pretend that he was higher that he was. His father was a butcher!” She pointed at me and undid the button on my lip, allowing me to defend myself.

I clutched my heart. “A butcher for the King!”

“Who got food poisoning!”

“That was never proved.”

“He’s a Sir to me,” Raffles said. 

I felt my heart skip a beat. No one had ever called me Sir just because I wanted them to. He would use the words I felt comfortable with to describe myself. What a gentleman.

She rolled her eyes. “Fine but you shall need to find someone to speak on your behalf, Raffles.”

I embraced her without thinking. “Oh, thank you, Winifred. I shall do you proud and when time comes to tell this tale, I shall sing your praises. I go forthwith to this deed.”

“We convene in one hour.”

“An hour?” Raffles was surprised. “The justice system is swift up here.”

I nodded. “Well time passes in rather a strange unworldly way. Sometimes an hour feels like millennia. Sometimes a century feels like a minute.”

Raffles gazed around in awe, watching as around him the vastness of the white became a courtroom with giant cloud desks and flocks of people seated ready for the proceedings to commence.

I pointed to myself. “I shall be your defence. I am honoured to serve the great A.J Raffles. The only other man I served, returned not in kind a service but instead a vile illness of boils and pustules, oozing from my flesh as children outside the window sang ‘ring a ring roses’ at me and the door was painted with a cross. The angel that came for me was not kind.”

Raffles placed his finger on my lip. “You might want to put all that plague stuff behind you, Sir Simon, it seems to torment you even in death. Forgive that man. I don’t think he intentionally wished to infect you.”

I sighed. “I suppose you’re right. But first things first, we’ll talk about me later. You need a character witness.”

“But I don’t know anyone up here.”

“It can be someone from Earth. Bunny will be your best bet, not only because everyone else thinks you’re dead, but they’re likely to listen to anyone who looks like an innocent angel himself.”

“Bunny’s solid worth but he’s not so perfect. He can be temperamental, emotional, jealous and easily-led. He may crack under the pressure.”

“But he’s your rabbit. He knows you better than anyone else in all of heaven and Earth. He’s there when you may die and he’s been there through every fake death and resurrection and all the important moments of your life. He’s the best choice because he is part of you, the good and the bad.”

“Sir Simon, that was superlative.”

“Don’t sound so surprised. I’m a playwright, poet and scholar. Good grief people underestimate me. I shall summon Bunny to join thee.”

“But he’s in the middle of a war?”

“Yes, talk about a bore war. Raffles you’re thinking in earthly terms. We’re going to steal him the way you steal diamonds and rubies. You steal from something called a safe but I am going to pluck from somewhere quite dangerous. Time will be still and with a snap of my manicured fingers, poor injured Bunny will rise from the ashes like a phoenix and join us in this heavenly plain, albeit temporarily.”

I whipped my cloak over my shoulder and suddenly, there emerged Bunny through the mist, walking towards us with rosy cheeks, clean and tidy and wearing a suit as though he hadn’t been wearing an army uniform at all.

“Why is he dressed so elegantly?” Raffles said. “And I greet him dressed like this as a tired and weary soldier?”

“Oh, I do apologise.” I snapped my fingers and there he also stood in a heavenly white suit to match his heavenly white teeth.

And they stood looking at each other, gazing as though they hadn’t seen one another for years.

“Does he know what’s going on?”

I blew gently into Bunny’s ear and suddenly all the knowledge of everything that had transpired filled his head. “He won’t remember it when it’s over but for now he is in the loop.”

“A.J!” Bunny said. “Don’t worry, I’ll stand up for you. I’ll get you out of this.”

Raffles laughed. “Thank you, Bunny.”

“Sorry to break the romantic tension,” I said, my heart aflutter. “But we shall be beginning shortly. I can see the prosecution approaching. Bunny, take your place on the stand if you will.”

The prosecution lawyer of sorts was an angel like myself and stood before me majestically. He was dressed in similar clothes to mine but where my hair was fair his was dark and he had a dark moustache.

“I am Ferdinand Marquez,” he said. 

I blushed. “I am Sir Simon de Winterbourne.”

He was a beautiful Spaniard. And I a pale Englishman and our kind were sworn enemies in our day, always at war, the same as Raffles and Bunny and those Boars or whoever else was fighting whoever else in that time period.

I bowed before him. “I accept you as prosecution and hope any bad blood between us will not affect the outcome.”

“I can assure you I am professional. Unless you wish to send an Armada,” he winked.

“Oh, I say, I wish I could sail to you, I mean, shall we commence? Commence the court!” I ignored the grins from Raffles and Bunny, but when one has been surrounded for many years with unattractive angels, one does crave one of the beautiful kind. 

Before I had time to think, Judge Winifred called places and there Ferdinand and I were on opposite podiums and where Raffles stood in the dock and Bunny in the witness stand. 

“Bunny?” Judge Winifred said. “Is that your real name?”

“Oh, no, it’s Harry Manders,” he said shyly, still overwhelmed by his surroundings.

“Well then, Mr. Harry Manders. Please tell the court why your Mr. Raffles should be allowed to leave our paradise and resume life on Earth?”

Looking across at the sea of faces, Bunny gulped. “Well…”

“Speak up!” Judge Winifred bawled. 

“It’s not that Raffles should get special treatment. But I feel I should speak of him as he is. Raffles has often accused me of over-embellishing the way I see him but I don’t feel that is fair because all those things I say are true. It doesn’t mean he’s good through and through or that he’s perfect but he’s mine. I’d like you to give him another chance. He’s a good man really, though you probably only want to look at him as a thief.”

There was a succession of gasps from the jury and crowd. 

Winifred peered over her spectacles. “Are you telling me, Mr. Rabbit, that you’re admitting he’s a thief? There were rumours of his misdeeds but to hear it so plainly from his character witness.”

Bunny looked glumly at Raffles. “But it’s a court of law and I’m sworn to tell the truth.”

“If I may speak,” I added to which the Judge nodded. “I would say here it’s less about the truth and what we all want to hear and more about feelings. We want to feel as though Raffles deserves his place on Earth as though it’d be better there with him, with you and your love.”

“But I can’t swear to it being better for the world, only for me. In which case I’m being selfish. I can swear that a world with Raffles in it is infinitely better for me.”

“So why should we grant him more years?” The Judge said.

“I don’t know.”

I placed my head in my hands. “Because, Bunny,” I said, “because he is a human being, warts and all. Because you love him and deserve more time together. Because he’s far too young.”

Ferdinand stepped forward. “So are many taken from the Earth. I was only thirty-eight and you Sir Simon, only thirty-two.”

“I made the initial mistake. He should never have seen me and thanks to me, it’s all mixed up. Who knows what his real death date should be? Why take him when we don’t have to? Why not just this once, due to my error, let him live?”

But it was not to be. And the stubborn Judge and jury decided that Raffles had had enough chances and that he should die on that battlefield in South Africa like so many men around him. Bunny let out a sob, I let out a sob, even Ferdinand shed a single tear and yet Raffles stood there so calmly, so peacefully, accepting his fate as though he were an angel already. 

“I understand,” Raffles said, “it’s alright, Simon, Bunny. Why should I live when so many better people than me die every day?”

“Oh no need to find your morals now,” I snapped. I was so infuriated.

Bunny bowed his head. “I should have done better.”

Raffles’ hand touched Bunny’s shoulder. “No, Bunny, you did what you had to.”

“I would take your place if I could, A.J.”

“I would never allow that,” Raffles said. “Come on, Bunny. Remember what I told you, be brave. Victory or Wormwood Scrubs or heaven or hell? We know one day we shall be reunited in heaven.”

“Come on, you two, it’s time,” I said sadly.

Raffles shook my hand. “’til we meet again, Sir Simon.”

And with a flutter of white dust, the tranquillity and the whiteness of heaven was replaced with the harshness of the earth where war raged on and Raffles and Bunny returned to where they had been before I had arrived. 

My heart beat quickened as I waited for it, as I waited for the end. “It’s not only been the best time I’ve ever had, old Bunny, but I’m not half sure—” I heard him say as I unfroze time and then I gulped and I drew back my bow and arrow and I shot a magical dart that stopped Raffles in his tracks where not another word drew from his lips.

I’d killed him you asked? No, not I. I saved him. Oh, I couldn’t abide by rules that made little sense to me. Raffles accepted the end. The other times he pushed against it and asked me to return later, always later, but now he resigned himself to the end, and it was I, Sir Simon de Winterbourne who was unable to let him go. And so, I didn’t. I simply made him deeply sleep where he would dream away and when Bunny woke, his Raffles would be seemingly gone. Bunny would think he was no more, heaven would think what they wanted, and I would take him to an unknown place in the world and leave him there— confused and dazed, fighting to find his way back to his Bunny. I couldn’t make it easy of course, that wasn’t in my style, but I could make him live and realise that his life on earth was not for jewels and honour or glory but for something far more precious— his beloved Rabbit. Finding inspiration from a certain someone, I dropped him down in Spain.

…

My head was still in a daze when I found my body arriving back at my Angel Halls of Residence and I glanced in the mirror, realising I must have transported myself back without even realising it. I didn’t know what was going to face me when the superiors found out, whether I’d be punished or thrown downward into purgatory for thousands of years to repent but I knew wrong or right in technical terms I’d made the right decision. 

In the mirror my pale face seemed so dreary and I looked tired. 

“Sir Simon?” 

I spun around and there standing in the doorway was the tall heroic figure of Ferdinand.

“What are you doing here? You won the case, I lost. I always lose.”

“It’s not a fight. And I’m not here to gloat. I wanted to say that I know.”

“Know what?”

“That you took that matter into your own hands, that you let him live against the wishes of the court.”

“I’m my own angel. You’re going to tell?”

He shook his head. “I think what you did was noble. I’m impressed.”

I was speechless and I blushed profusely. 

“Don’t look so surprised. And just so you know, I’ve let someone live too,” Ferdinand said.

“You have?”

“He was handsome as well. He loved a woman so deeply that I couldn’t bear to separate them. And if the only reason they wanted Raffles here was for cricket then they deserve to be deceived.”

“Ferdinand?”

“Yes?”

“I don’t suppose you want to watch a boxset? I’ve got seasons 1-90 of Raffles’ life?”

“90?”

“Yes, I really think everyone should live to ninety don’t you, none of all this faffing about! But just one question?”

“What’s that?”

“Does my dying of the plague bother you?”

“Of course not, why would it?”

I’d found the perfect angel at last! Was he the Bunny to my Raffles? I only had eternity to find out!


	17. Raffles- Threshold

On that cold and grey New Year’s Eve of the first year of my reacquaintance with Raffles, I stood in his rooms at the Albany, my green apron around me, my sleeves rolled up and my face sooty. When Raffles entered the room, I was sweeping and cleaning the hearth, newspapers strewn across the carpet in front, me red-faced with the exertion.

“Spring cleaning early, eh Bunny?”

“A.J, it’s New Year’s Eve.”

His eyes widened. “Is it by Jove? I had no idea when I glanced at the calendar this morning that that’s what it meant.” He smirked.

“Oh you! I’m brushing away all the ash and dirt to sweep away all the ills of the year in hope of a brighter and happier future.”

He sat down on the sofa and reached down and grabbed one of the newspapers off the floor, opening it to read. “I’d say we had a rather splendid year, my dear fellow. Our fill of boodle, our consumption of fine wine and dinners, our long overdue reunion.”

“And a few bumps along the way.”

“One can not live life without a few bumps, Bunny.”

“No, but we can at least forget the bumps, sweep them away with the old and focus on a new year. Besides, it can’t hurt to clean your hearth, it’s a darned mess, A.J.”

He looked up from his paper and I smiled at the now sooty tips of his fingers and the blackened cheek where he’d left a trace after scratching it. “How many invites did you get for these bachelor things by the way?”

I shuddered. I’d been invited to a number of households to be flung at un-married daughters. If their families were so desperate to send all these men around on the last night of the year, it made me wonder what was wrong with their darlings. “Oh, four, I think. What about you?”

“You know I got fifteen this year, beat last year’s record. I couldn’t possibly find time to visit all of them. I’ll tell you what, I’ll attend the ones you’ve also been summoned to and we can go together.”

I sighed with relief. “Oh, thank goodness.”

“Of course it is rather unorthodox and we might be competitors in a sense but I’m sure we can work around it. Spend ten minutes each with the girl, etcetera, etcetera, move onto the next house.”

“No time for you to steal anything while we’re there either.”

He laughed. “When invited, Bunny, one does not.”

…

The evening was mortifying. Four different households, nine different daughters. In one household there was conveniently two daughters, so we merely spoke to them and swapped. They were pretty and pleasant enough ladies but I spent the time looking over her shoulder to where Raffles sat with her sister and wishing I were spending the last hours of the year with him. Thankfully the two sisters’ home was our last for the night and so we kissed their hands, bid farewell and made our way into the cold streets, deciding to walk instead of trying to hail a cab. 

“Fog’s cleared,” Raffles said as he looked at his watch. “Don’t think we’ll make it back to the Albany by midnight. We’ve only got twenty minutes.”

“Then let’s take a slow walk together down the side streets. I’m just glad I got out of there alive.”

With a smirk, Raffles linked his arm through mine. “That plump girl with the pigtails took rather a shine to you, didn’t she?”

“Yes, I’d rather hoped you’d forgotten that. Darned impertinent the way she kept putting her face inches from mine.”

“I thought she was going to kiss you.”

“I’m not sure how I feel about a girl who makes the first move.”

He laughed. “Still, as you say, we survived the night.”

“Not yet, there’s still eighteen minutes to midnight.”

“I am quite sure, Bunny, we shall ring in the new year without any snags. And to many more.”

“A new century soon too.”

Raffles sat down on a bench as we entered the park which was beautiful by moonlight. “I think I’ll cling to the Nineteenth Century with all my might, if you don’t mind. And we’re a good few years off that yet, thank goodness.”

I sat next to him on the bench, my body against his. “I always feel strange on New Year’s Eve.”

“How so?”

I shivered in the cold air, holding my coat tighter. “It’s that feeling of time passing. Those 365 days ending and never happening again.”

He smirked. “But they do happen again when another 365 days of Mondays and Tuesdays and Junes and Julys take place.”

“You know perfectly well what I mean. The moments of a single year, disappear into that one night, never to be felt again.”

“Does make one reflective. But then there’s tomorrow, Bunny, the anticipation of tomorrow. This one night we can think about a fresh year that we haven’t yet lived. When the New Year starts, when that bell rings, when we kiss our loved ones and banish the old away, we have nothing to fear. We are untarnished. Anything bad can happen, anything wonderful, but in that moment, we have no idea which it will be.”

“That’s what makes it so scary.”

“And superlative. The world is our oyster, Bunny. When a new year begins, we are newborn and we can achieve anything.”

I cheekily grabbed his hand. “When you put it like that. If it’s a year with you, A.J, then I will always look forward.”

“And what a year we shall have, my Rabbit. You shall want for nothing. Oh, I have a few tricks up my sleeve and let’s hope there’s some surprises along the way.”

“I don’t like surprises.”

“Yes you do,” he replied and there was a twinkle in his eye. 

I looked at my watch. “One minute to go.”

We looked at one another and we watched the clock face and then when it got to ten seconds, we counted down together until at last we reached one.

“Happy New Year!” I cried.

“Happy New Year, Bunny!”

“We made it!”

Raffles peered around and watched the shadows and then pulled me from the bench and the park and into a nearby alleyway where he planted a kiss on my lips. It felt wonderful with his warm lips against mine. Last year I had been at a party with people I didn’t care about in a ballroom full of hundreds, kissing strangers as the clock struck twelve. All those people and yet I’d never felt so alone. And now here I was at midnight in an alley with just one other soul and feeling the least lonely I’d felt in years. We embraced and didn’t let go for several minutes as we listened to the bells ringing out around us, rung from every church, house and hotel in the region.

Leaving the alley, we found the road leading back to the Albany where we passed other party revellers and said our happy new year wishes to everyone we saw. We linked arms again and suddenly my melancholy was replaced with an optimism of what the new year with Raffles might bring. We had been side by side most days that previous year and now I looked forward to every minute I spent with him.

We reached the Albany in fine spirits, singing songs and wishing Beckett the happiest of fortunes. I spied Raffles handing him a few gold coins as we passed and all in all I was filled with happiness. I ran up the stairs with Raffles chasing me as though we were boys at the old school. I reached the door first and having grabbed the key, unlocked the door and was about to rush inside and declare victory of our running race when he placed his arm at the door to stop me entering.

“Play fair, A.J, I won fair and square.” I was breathless.

“That you did, Bunny. That isn’t the reason I must stop you. You know what they say about crossing the threshold on New Year. A dark-haired man brings fortunes for the year ahead.” He looked at me and grinned. “Whereas a fair-haired man spells trouble.”

“What rot! What superstitious rot!!” I followed him inside.

“Indeed, just like you with the sweeping out the ills of the year or making sure we had money in our pockets.”

“Fine. But honestly, why should I be associated with troubles and you with good fortune?”

“I don’t make the rules, my dear Bunny, I just follow them.” He poured us both a drink of whiskey.

“Follow them! You follow rules!” I lobbed a cushion at his head as he collapsed onto the settee in a fit of giggles.

“Bunny, my whiskey was nearly lost to that cushion. Be careful when you decide to throw things at me.”

I jumped onto the settee next to him. “But all in all, it was a good year wasn’t it?” 

“It was a very good year. What did you think of that house in Montague Square with all the other guests in that ballroom?”

“I was rather envying them dancing whilst we were courting those three sisters and a cousin. They were all wearing magnificent costumes.”

“A phantom ball I think, Bunny.”

“Did you see the person in sequins?”

He grinned. “That I did. Good heavens they were sparkling like a chandelier. It was a hard job looking at the young lady when that person dazzled like some jewels from heaven in the background. We really must try and find that person next year.”

“You mean this year, Raffles?”

“Yes, I suppose I do. Always tricky getting the hang of saying that.”

I clinked my whiskey glass against his. “To the rest of the nineteenth century!”

“To the rest of the good old days!”


End file.
